


Freaks of Nature

by jacklalonde



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Humor, M/M, Superheroes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-17
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-01-19 13:30:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 57,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1471585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacklalonde/pseuds/jacklalonde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If only Jean Kirschtein was normal. If only he didn't have to run for his life in order to keep his existence a secret from people who want him dead. If only he could focus purely on his current mission of helping save the world against monstrous Titans instead of the boy with freckles dusting his face who's decided to come along for the ride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning of the End

**Author's Note:**

> wow! A cheesy jeanmarco superhero au….s o original, I know. This fic is purely everything I’d want in a snk superhero fic and more, so bear with me as I bash my face against my keyboard and attempt to make this au all I want it to be. I just reall y like superhero aus, and I also really like jeanmarco, and thus Freaks of Nature was born.  
> Special thanks to carterbluteyker, who I'm about to refer to as my sidekick and partner in crime when it comes to this crazy fic. Not only does she give me a nearly constant flow of ideas but she's basically helped shape the story right along with me. So go pat her on the back and give her the praise she deserves for assisting my lack of creativity!  
> Thanks so much to whoever decided to click this- I hope you will enjoy!! If you do, be sure to tell me down below. thanks again!

Through the constant trials of everyday living, Jean Kirschtein has learned that there are a few especially bad ways to spoil your day. However, there’s always a select few that manage to get him the most thoroughly pissed;

Forgetting to pull down the handle on the toaster so that when he comes back from frantically pulling on a pair of pants with inhuman speed the toast hasn’t even started to cook and he has to wait another three minutes while angrily staring down at the small metal machine.

Getting his toes stuck in said pants because he’s a loser who wears genuinely ripped jeans and his toes apparently love shoving themselves through any hole they can.

And then there’s the ever-so-slightly nerve-wracking experience of watching the boy who gives him tiny butterflies in class about to be eaten by a gigantic monster attacking his home town.

Two of the three happen more frequently than the other. Until Friday afternoon.

 

School sucks balls. Anyone who thinks otherwise has never sat through this class. Jean drums softly on his desk with two pens, both to continuously annoy those around him and distract himself from whatever’s being taught up front. Whatever it is, he can deal with later with books surrounding him on his bed and his eyes staring up at the ceiling forlornly (his usual studying method).

A warm breeze comes in through the window across the room and Jean feels himself _ache_ for it—to feel anything but the harsh lights that flicker when it rains or when he gets too upset. He aches for the sunshine on his skin, so much so that he stops tapping and ends up turning his head toward the glass while imagining possible scenarios where he leaps from his seat and out the window, into the sun. And then Jean’s teacher clears his throat and Jean turns back, neck aching from where he must have been reaching it toward the outside world.

Fifteen minutes later, Jean’s sure that someone must have tampered with the class’ clock because there is no way in hell it’s been less than three hours since this class has started. He stares down the clock, its circular form taunting him with every audible tick while the teacher drones on. In a moment of pure desperation and with the persuasion of another gust of wind from the open window, Jean tries to see if he can make the hand of the clock just move a _tiny bit faster, please_. But it’s impossible, as the consistent movement makes his head hurt and the inside of his wrists thrum with adrenaline. It’s Jean who clears his throat this time, blinking twice. He settles for staring straight ahead, waiting until the burning in his palms subsides.  
After class, a girl with dimples starts to poke fun at Jean’s blank sheet of notes and both of their apparent incapability of understanding trigonometry, but Jean puts in his headphones and walks past, eyes on the door. It’s not her fault. Jean knows perfectly well that she’s a friendly person and he’s just being an asshole. An unsaid apology forms in his mind before he makes a break for it. His lack of friends is astounding, really. But his acquaintance numbers are all the way up in the tens now; something that probably hasn’t happened since starting high school. In the tens is where he belongs, so Jean doesn’t feel too badly when he walks past the girl, brushing past her shoulder to make it out the door first. Distance is familiar, now. Distance is home.

Sasha and Connie, two of the ten, glued at the hip (literally, too, that one time in elementary school), approach Jean when he’s tossing books into his locker. Sasha peers around the side of the locker’s door and she and Jean lock eyes for a brief moment before Connie appears too, head directly above hers. Jean wonders for a moment what it’s like when they’re not together. He pauses for a moment, trying to imagine it. There probably never is a time. If there is, things are probably a lot calmer than when they are together. And less destructive.

Connie comes around to the other side of Jean, and now they’re on both sides, closing in. There’s no escaping interaction now. Connie waits, staring at Jean until he remembers and rips the headphones from his ears. Connie jumps right into it.

“Kirschtein, hey. Some of us are going downtown tonight. Bring three bucks and we’ll pitch in for a pizza,” he says, leaning forward, and the pre-lunch ache in Jean’s stomach almost leads him to obey Connie’s wide-eyed stare. But, remembering, Jean decides to just humor them for a moment.

“Who else?” is all Jean asks. Connie doesn’t miss a beat.

“You know…Mikasa, Armin, Reiner, Bertl, Annie, Eren…” he fades out on that last part. Jean rolls his eyes. Okay, now he’s really glad he’s busy.

“Can’t. I’m going out too, unfortunately. Getting supplies for Photos 101. Big project due in a few days. Sorry, guys.” He closes his locker and watches as Sasha and Connie move from either side of him to block his path, almost too in sync that it makes him stop in his tracks.

“Pizza, Jean,” is all Connie says.

Sasha chimes in. “I’ll keep Eren at least ten feet from you at all times.”

“I actually have a project for Photos, guys. Did you not just hear—“

Connie cuts him off. “You can take a picture of me shoving pizza in my mouth. Prize-winning material.” Sasha snorts at that. Jean can feel his resolve fading.

“Come on, Jean. Friday night. Pizza.”

“My two favorite things,” Sasha says, almost dreamily, and Jean tips his head back toward the ceiling for a moment.

“Fine.”

Sasha and Connie fist bump each other and are lost in the hallway’s crowd within a couple seconds. Jean thinks he hears Connie shout ‘I’ll call you!’ through the tsunami of people, but he’s not sure. Jean shakes his head to himself and shoves the music back into his ears. So what if he had other plans tonight other than buying photo paper? This’ll be good for him. The other plans can wait.

Cooking is his last class, and Jean enjoys it. Not cooking; God no, his cooking is a thing of nightmares. But cooking _class;_ that’s something that can make even forced plans of pizza and Eren Jaeger okay.

There’s a boy in his cooking class.

Not like that.

One of the tens of acquaintances—a boy with floppy brown hair that naturally falls into his eyes sometimes. Big brown eyes, too; framed by thick-rimmed glasses that he manages to somehow pull off without looking like a tool. And a face full of freckles and a button nose and the kind of smile that makes his eyes to crinkle up when he smiles. They’re not partners in class or anything, because if they were chances are Jean wouldn’t be burning every dish he’s attempted to make so far.

The kid can cook, too. The fact that he’s somewhat of a suck-up to the teacher is basically just the icing on the cake (he’d aced their baking unit; his frosting was sublime). His suspiciously good nature is proven as well when sometimes Jean drops and egg on the floor while swearing under his breath and the boy comes walking over, almost like he’s been summoned. He’ll just bend down on the floor right there with Jean silently while Jean wonders what he could possibly say to someone like him. The boy introduced himself over a bowl full of chocolate chip cookie dough one of the few first days of school, and Jean had shaken his hand covered in flour. When they finally made eye contact, Jean noticed a winding scar down the right side of his face, curving from above his eye down to his jaw. Jean hadn’t said anything, but the boy’s smile nearly hid it, so he couldn’t help but smile back. Marco Bodt. The boy from his cooking class.

Jean sees him everyday for half a second in the hall right after school, surrounded by people who Jean doesn’t bother to look into the eyes of. He walks along behind Jean, who’s practically ducking into his locker in fear of being noticed. Squinting away the sun that catches the boy’s hair, Jean thinks that Marco Bodt might actually be smiling to himself. He’d noticed it in Cooking too. The way he holds himself tall as he strides past, looking like he’s just been given the best news that he can’t wait to tell everyone he passes. Meanwhile, Jean is hunched over in his locker, collecting his things and watching this boy out of his peripheral vision. He’s never really gotten the chance to ask, but Jean promises if he ever finds himself able to, he’ll ask this kid how the hell he can walk through a high school’s halls not looking like he’s one unnecessary shove away from killing someone.

Jean pushes his hair away from his face and huffs when it falls right back into place in a static mess. Then he pushes his way to the side doors of the school and breathes in the clean air, after what feels like a decade of rotting in this prison. Finally, another weekend. He almost wants to get down and kiss the green grass outside.

 

Sasha does not keep him at least ten feet away from Eren. She tries, but Jean grabs a slice of pizza right before Eren’s about to reach for it and he calls Jean out, getting red-faced and huge-eyed over the pepperoni pizza that makes its way to Jean’s waiting stomach in a matter of seconds.

Jean has to be restrained by Sasha gripping his arm when Eren jumps to his feet and he goes to follow, and Jean’s memory blacks out for a little bit after that. This is why he isn’t more than acquaintances with these people. He can almost feel his hair standing on end as he settles back down into his chair.

Things _had_ been going okay, up until that point. Jean arrived with the three dollars in his pocket to meet Connie standing out front clutching Sasha by the arm, now sporting a Sina High sports jacket. Reiner had one on, too, his muscled arms stretching the fabric tight. Jean tries not to grimace, thinking _they probably sell bigger sizes, mini Hulk_.  Bertholt, a boy who Jean’s barely even come in contact with (yet he’s always there when they hang out), stands next to Reiner, button up sweater vest causing him to sweat even more profusely than usual in the late spring weather. And Annie Leonhardt, standing looking as apathetic as ever, sports the same jacket. Jean thinks somehow she might even be a little less excited than himself to be here. Jean gives a single wave to all of them as a hello, already shoving his hands back in his pockets and deciding to keep his eyes on what surrounds them. A couple of shops, a bookstore across the street, the lamppost next to them that’ll light up the twilight street within an hour.

They order pizza, all crowded around a circular table in the back corner of the crowded restaurant. Jean is sandwiched between Connie and Sasha, who are obviously trying to keep him in check. Across the rounded table Eren sits, his eyes almost glowing in the dim light with their usual aggression and strange green luminescence. Next to him, Mikasa Ackerman serenely sips from a glass of water and Armin Arlert adjusts his collar six times before folding his hands in front of him. He doesn’t know the three of them very much, but he does know that they probably don’t like him very much. Jean swallows nervously and checks his phone while the rest of them chat lightly, mostly about school. Why should he be here if all they’re going to talk about is classes? It’s Friday night, accept that it’s a weekend and keep the school conversation to a minimum. While Jean scrolls through his phone halfheartedly, their subject finally changes.

“There’s a way for figuring it out, I promise.” Jean has zoned out. He has no idea what Armin’s talking about.

“Ah, Armin. Please do enlighten us,” Connie says, leaning forward with his chin in his hand and elbows on the table, and Jean lets his eyes flicker to the small blonde boy before they land back on his phone. How long is it socially polite to stay before he makes some sort of excuse to leave? He thinks about actually looking it up on the internet, but then again, Sasha could easily look down and see him asking the mass of the worldwide web for pathetic advice for his equally pathetic social life. He settles for going back to staring down at the tablecloth and chiming into the exchange when he’s supposed to until the food arrives. A pizza the size of the Earth is placed down in front of them, and there’s a moment of mutual awe before Jean’s stomach screams a battle cry and they all dig in together.

And only a few minutes later, Jean’s memory goes a little hazy after being vigorously shoved back into his seat after almost allowing himself to punch Eren Jaeger to the ground. Jean feels like he’s lost some of the balance he was still holding on to, and afterwards feels something heavy in the air around him. It’s almost too much to get him to look up from the table again.

He excuses himself to go take a call that doesn’t exist a few minutes later, avoiding anyone’s eyes after he senses the way they all must be looking at him right now. The fact that he can hear Eren Jaeger start to say something close to Mikasa’s ear as he walks away makes Jean grip his phone tighter, back rigid as he moves to temporarily escape from the bustling room.

Leaning against the outside of the building, phone now tucked safely away in his pocket, Jean tries to push away whatever he’s feeling right now. He’s so fucking stupid, honestly. He’s hung out with these people before, so why can’t he just pretend to enjoy their company right now? Why is this time so different? Why does he feel like something’s so wrong? Why can’t he just be _normal_?

The world quivers as Jean looks down at his feet, and then the sound of a blast to his left makes his entire body to jolt in shock. The car crash felt like it literally shook the ground beneath him for a second there. He hopes everything’s okay.

Jean lowers his shoulders and stretches his neck out, trying to see around the corner. There’s another quiver under his feet. He looks down and watches as a pebble next to his worn sneakers begins to jump with the tremors of the earth as Jean realizes that whatever this is, it’s not a car crash. Something is literally shaking the ground.

Then again. And again. Jean pushes his feet across the pavement, trying to look around the next street corner and see what the hell is causing him a heart attack every five seconds from another shudder through his legs. As he turns the corner, Jean feels something rush up in him, the feeling of a few moments ago intensified to  a white-hot flash that passes all the way to his shaking feet. He can barely push it down back inside of him as he pushes his hands into fists next to him and stops walking. Because _holy shit_.

He sees it in between two very tall buildings, emphasis on _very tall_ buildings, and his blood runs ice cold.

He doesn’t know what to think. There’s something moving, something massive, something out of any sane person’s nightmares, and Jean sees it again after another tremor beneath him. He can’t take his eyes off of it, even after he feels the earth shaking even more, enough to almost make his knees give out. The enormous being that is now dragging its fist along the side of a building as it turns the corner toward Jean looks…human. But at the same time it isn’t humanoid _at all_.

When Jean drags his eyes up to see the face, he sees the teeth first. A massive, lipless jaw that seems fixed in a permanent grimace, its eyes wide and glazed, looking like it’s staring into the remnants of Jean’s soul itself. Jean hasn’t noticed anyone around him before as he was stuck in his bubble of self-pity, but now he sees that around him people are scattering the street as the hunched figure rips the side of a glass skyscraper to shreds like it’s nothing. Jean doesn’t see any blood falling from the fist that just pummeled those third story windows—just a slight cloud of steam before it continues to shake the ground with each step onward. Jean still can’t move. His shoes appear to be glued the ground and his breath is stuck tight in his throat.  
He watches as the monster bends down to its knees with a crash only a block away, and Jean flinches, unable to do much else. It extends an arm toward someone, who’s sprinting along the street, their blood-curdling scream silenced in a moment; like the monster is crushing a bug in between its fingers. It then lifts the dripping body to its gaping mouth and drops it inside. Jean does see blood on its hand this time. And then he turns on his heel and bolts.

There’s no way this is happening. There’s no way. The sudden nudge under his feet that almost throws him to the street proves otherwise. What the hell is that thing? Is it getting any closer? While looking behind him and through a floppy mess of hair he sees that yes, it is getting closer, and he probably should’ve taken gym class running more seriously. Other than that, Jean’s unable to even try to think coherent thoughts anymore. He just hopes that his feet don’t give out and get him crushed or…eaten.

Someone has to do something. Someone needs to kill that thing; _they_ could always come rushing in like they sometimes do—what the hell is he thinking? He shouldn’t even be thinking about that group of freaks at a time like this. Jean has to push another wave of electric adrenaline back down into him, just so he doesn’t stop running and do something stupid.

Heading around another street, Jean is panting, the consistent thumps behind him fueling him forward. It’s mid-pant, the sun dipping low in the horizon, when Jean recognizes it—wait, scratch that—someone. Another boy his age, his eyebrows creased together as he runs past Jean in the other direction, other people screaming and following behind him. Jean stops straight in his tracks and turns, watching as Marco Bodt doesn’t see him and keeps running, whipping his head in all directions, trying to see where he’s headed. The creature turns toward their street, haunting eyes searching the ground below it, the glazed look lighting up slightly when it looks down to view its next buffet. Jean stops running.

He watches in terror as Marco realizes he’s been running the wrong way.  He stops, skidding to a standstill as a massive foot crushes a hot dog stand that Jean had passed half a minute ago. Jean lets himself pant, starting to really panic now as he watches Marco freeze.

Hell, they can’t outrun this. People on the other side of the street are still running away from the massive destruction and the blood-stained teeth of the massive monster, but Jean has stopped. Marco’s still frozen, too. Jean looks for an escape around him, looks for someplace where he could grab Marco pull him into safety, but they’re nearly in the middle of the street and he can tell the thing’s eye is on them. And as it tramples a few cars while it stumbles forward, Jean realizes that there isn’t really any safe place for them to go. More people flee the scene, running in any direction they can and shoving past Jean’s shoulder. One man bumps into him while saying “it’s the goddamn end of the world!” and Jean can’t disagree with him right now. Someone pushes past Marco, too, but it doesn’t seem to stop the way he’s standing perfectly still, back to Jean and head tilted toward the face of the giant.

Jean has to do something.

“Hey!” He shouts. Marco doesn’t hear him; Jean’s still far enough away from him that if he could run to him, it wouldn’t make much of a difference now. The giant’s only ten massive footsteps away from where Marco is finally frantically starting to step back again, but he knows it’s coming for him. A new thought enters Jean’s mind. He has a way to get there fast, a way to save Marco’s freckled face and keep his brown eyes open another day.

 _Shit, you can’t do this_. Jean can already feeling it swell up in him. He can’t do this. He promised himself that tonight would be the last time, but at least that was safely at his house and not with an actual life at stake and people around him. _Don’t do this, they’ll catch you._ Yeah, if he lives. He glares back up into the lifeless eyes as the monster takes the few last steps and starts to reach down, Marco tripping over his own frantic movements and landing on his ass on the ground.

He has to at least try, right? No, no. Yes. Go. _Go, you coward_.

Hands shaking, Jean pulls his hood up and over his head, tightening the string so it doesn’t blow back, and even if his fringe still falls in his eyes he doesn’t have time to fix it now. All the while keeping his gaze on the reaching hand, he lets the butterflies of adrenaline almost lift him out of his body. And then, with a final curse for letting himself do this, he embraces the rush inside him. Feeling like sparks are swelling up behind his chest, Jean lifts off the ground and pushes himself forward, his flying shaky at first like always as he tries to reclaim his balance. Then he feels the familiar weightlessness settle and without a thought, he heads straight for Marco and probable death. The monster still extends one hand down, almost like it’s beckoning Marco to come closer as he’s still stuck scooting backwards, trying to stand up again. Jean narrows his eyes and hopes he’s going to make it in time, hopes that he doesn’t kill them both. With a very ungraceful collision and an audible exclamation of pain from the both of them, he grabs Marco from around the waist and pulls up just as the hand is about to close around him. In the most uncomfortable and straining way possible that makes him grit his teeth and grunt in frustration, Jean flies upwards, Marco’s middle in his arms.

But it seems like his acquaintance's silence has broken, because Marco is screaming and Jean is trying to move them as fast as he can, up and away from the ever-reaching hand.

“Holy shit! Oh my god!” Marco is saying, sounding like he’s actually crying, legs kicking wildly. Jean wants to tell him to be quiet, he’s _working on it,_ but his arms hurt so badly. Seriously, what was he doing during countless days of pushups in gym? Jean tightens his grip, thinking that if he dropped him now at fifty feet in the air Marco would never forgive him. The creature is moving its head as Jean hauls them up into the air, Marco still screeching in his arms. Jean glances behind him and hisses _oh, no_ as the hand comes back to grab both of them. Jean dodges a massive finger by inches and flies them further. A few more stories of this building, that’s all he needs. The sound of screaming from Marco and the alarm of a recently crushed car is all he can hear over his own heartbeat. And then Marco’s starting to slip from his hands.

“Hold on, hold on” Jean mutters to Marco as he hears more roaring destruction behind him. Knowing that there’s a good chance he can’t keep this up more than three more seconds Jean practically throws them both down on the top of the building’s concrete roof, Jean colliding with the base of a water tower from his ever-graceful landing and nearly knocking himself out.

Jean had dropped Marco to the ground before he hit, making sure that there’s no chance he could be injured, or that he can see his face right now as Jean lies panting on the ground. Gasping, he turns toward the giant approaching, its head almost reaching the landing they’re on. Jean watches in terror as the head moves down for a few moments before it reappears and drops a struggling businessman onto its waiting tongue. Jean feels it come up further in him—the frustration, the anger, the _feeling_ that he suppresses so much of the time—before he’s rushing to his feet.

Now without reason or a plan whatsoever, Jean lets himself feel it; the electricity in his bones coming forth into the pores of his skin, concentrating in on his hands. He reacts on instinct, aiming his forefinger and thumb like a gun and shooting a blast of electricity to the building across the street from them. It shatters a glass window, and Jean shoots again and again, until the monster hears the noise and slowly turns its massive head.

Jean glances to make sure it’s there in his hands now—crackling white hot voltage that claps to life in his ears, and then, reaching forward as the monster continues to turn, forces it out of his fingertips towards the bottom of its meaty neck. In a stream of lightning the monster is ablaze, and it falls to the ground in time with Jean, though in different directions.

Jean feels the world go fuzzy at the edges, drained of everything including the spark usually left in his gut, the edge of his hood around his head soaked in sweat. He lets himself just lie there on his back, trying to get the feeling back in his arms. He’d never used that much of his power before.

“Oh my god.” Jean’s eyes snap open and he scrambles to his feet, remembering who else was tossed on this roof with him. “What was that? What was that thing?” Jean stands, facing the other way, getting a major head rush and almost keeling over with weakness until Marco Bodt’s voice goes soft and Jean’s back turns rigid. “And you…you’re one of them.” Jean stares out at the sky, over the shorter buildings below. “Who are you?” Marco asks, voice suddenly getting closer as Jean starts to lift his feet of the ground again. He flies forward, but suddenly his hood is being yanked off the back of his head.

Jean turns, aghast, and Marco looks back at him, inches away, with the same expression. His glasses are cracked in the corner from where he must have hit the ground, his cheeks bright red. Jean watches as a mix of emotions pass by Marco’s face; and Jean’s pretty sure he sees disgust among them. He pushes him away with a jolt of some spare static; and he watches Marco’s hand flinch away before he turns to stare at it. Jean feels his stomach jump to his throat.

“I…I’m sorry,” Jean says, not a thing he’s used to saying, but he tries it anyway.

“Jean?” Marco asks, looking back from his hand. Jean feels the wind hit his sweaty neck as Marco’s recognition fully sets in. If he wasn’t shaking with exhaustion and pure terror, Jean might’ve gotten a better response out rather than just standing open-mouthed.

“Um,” he starts.

“You…you can fly.” Jean flushes, knowing what’s coming. Marco will report him, people will find out. He’ll be taken away. He imagines Marco’s face as The Wall comes with their black vans, restrictive cuffs locking onto his wrists, Marco’s knowing smirk as the door slams in his face. Jean sucks in a breath. He just _had_ to try to save the remarkable boy from cooking class, didn’t he?

Instead of shouting for the authorities or calling anyone right away, Marco just stares at him instead, all while rubbing a spot under his chest. Jean thinks he sees him wince before he speaks. “You just killed that thing.”

“I did?” Jean asks. Almost on cue they both rush over to the edge of the building and look over to the bottom to see the steaming, very dead body of whatever that thing was. It’s disintegrating into just bones too quickly, and they both make a noise of revulsion and confusion. People are starting to come out of buildings, coming to view the barely recognizable, torrid corpse. Jean doesn’t think this day could get any worse. Maybe if he throws up over the edge of the building, like he feels he’s going to. Marco knows he’s one of them, after all. _He knows, dammit_.

“What was it?” Jean asks, backing away.

“I thought you knew. You killed it, after all.”

“I was trying not to get eaten,” Jean says. Marco pushes his glasses back up his nose from where they were still almost falling off his face. While he’s busy, Jean keeps stepping back. “Look, I have to go—“  
“But you saved me.”

“I…yeah?” he says, and his feet lift to the air again. Marco rushes after him to grab his arm.

“You can’t leave me on a rooftop alone after something like that, Jean Kirschtein.” Jean feels the tiny shock he was about to give him simmer out. So he really does know his name. All those three second conversations over boiling water weren’t for nothing.

“Oh. Um. But I can’t exactly take you down there? There’s people.” After he somehow spits out the shaky sentence, he’s once again reminded that he really is the most suave person in the world.

“And what were you gonna do? Just flutter down there and hope no one noticed?” Jean finally looks up into the boys eyes again. Freckles standing out against the late evening sun, hair pushed back from his face from the wind. He’s still the same kid as the one who smiles in the halls and still the one who Jean watches out of the corner of his eye whenever he catches a glimpse. But it’s different now—Jean’s saved his life, and Marco knows that he’s a freak of nature. The fear of him knowing is almost enough to make Jean forget about the dead monster behind them both.

“We can’t be here when the police come. They might think you’re…like me…too.”

“I’m not,” Marco confirms, raising both his hands. Within a couple seconds a siren starts to blare around them, they see a helicopter dot in the sky begin to grow larger, and Jean grabs Marco’s forearm. “I know.”

“What? I could be lying to you! You’re that quick to believe me?” Jean glances back at Marco and debates whether or not a smirk would be appropriate at the moment. He decides against it.

“I can just tell, ok?” and then Jean is lifting off his feet and going to pick Marco up. But he falls to the ground again, head pounding and limbs wanting to collapse to the ground again. Okay, flying is out of the question.

“Woah, wait. Don’t hurt yourself.” Jean feels Marco reach out to him and Jean tries not to shock Marco too badly from how suddenly he touches him. He’s just not used to it. “And what do you mean you can tell? I can never really tell who’s…like you.”

“Come on, lets take the fire escape,” Jean says, dragging him along, avoiding the question with his usual finesse. They climb down a tiny stairwell together next to the wall of bricks, on the opposite side of the building than the giant’s dead body.

“Are you okay?” Marco asks in front of him, halfway down. And he isn’t—Jean feels like he could pass out at any moment. There’s spots in his vision again and everything seems to be slightly tilted. He can’t stop imagining Marco’s grin before he turns him in. Jean pushes his hand against a temple, holding onto a railing with the other.

“Yeah, better than ever. Tired.” He pushes harder until it hurts more. “You’re heavy, that’s all.” Marco turns back around whilst climbing down and drops his mouth open in shock. Jean freezes mid-step. “No! I mean, I had to lift you, you’re not—”

“No need to apologize, Jean. I sneak extra cookies into my backpack in class when the teacher’s not looking.” Jean lets out a breathy laugh before he can stop himself. Marco’s silent, moving along the rails and down the next flight of stairs.

“I don’t know how you could make a joke right now.”

“I don’t really know what to feel right now,” Marco says. They reach solid ground, on a side street opposite from the commotion, the moon beginning to peek out between clouds above them.

“I’m still shaking,” Marco admits. Jean nods in agreement. A moment of awkward I-just-saved-your-life-and-I-know-your-secret silence passes between them for too long. They end up speaking at the same time.

“I should go.”

“How long have you been flying?”

Jean stares back at him. Marco has an earnest, almost excited look on his face, the early moonlight reflecting off his glasses.

“Um, Marco. I think it’d be best if we forgot that any of this happened. I was never here, you were never there.” Jean points to Marco’s chest. “And you pretend that I can’t do any of that… _stuff._ ”

 Marco seems to almost glaze over his answer. “Yeah, yeah, if that’s what you want, Jean. But how long have you been flying?” Jean swallows, averting his eyes. His head pounds.

“Um, since I was thirteen.”

“Don’t stop.”

“What?” The way he says it makes Jean’s heart pound, and his next step back almost sending him straight to the ground.

“Don’t let that shit they tell us in school get in your way. You can fly, Jean." He waves his hands in exasperated motions. Jean can't help but look at him like he's insane. "You can shoot electric bullets, you can kill whatever that thing was with your own personal lightning storm. You could join the—“

“I’m not doing _that_.” Jean finally says. He feels his cheeks blaze even more, his electricity finding its way to his wrists again as he clenches his hands. “I’m not supposed to be able to do that. It’s not right.” He looks down at Marco’s pants, torn a little at the knee from when he hit the roof. Jean’s knees are probably bleeding—damn his love for these ripped jeans.

He can’t look back up into Marco’s eyes. “So I’m just gonna leave now, and we’re both going to go home, and you’re going to hopefully forget about me in a couple hours.” Jean looks to where Marco is rubbing his chest again, holding back a breath when he touches a certain spot. “Sorry about your ribs.”

Marco doesn’t hesitate. “A hurt rib is better than being dead.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Jean realizes how dark it’s become around them, the wail of sirens muffled by the wall next to them and the hum of a generator turning on breaking the silence. When Jean spots a street light flick on across the street, he remembers.

“Holy shit, Connie.” He can’t say any of their other names from how his throat closes up. Marco perks up.

“What, is he like you too?” Marco announces _loudly_. Jean stares at him in disbelief.

“First of all, why don’t you just announce it to the entire fucking world? And no,” Jean fishes his phone from his pocket. “Hold on. Or don’t. You can go home,” Jean’s all too aware of how much of an asshole he’s become in this moment. He wishes he could say this is the first time he’s done this.

“You’re gonna leave me in the dark?” Marco taunts as Jean starts to walk away, starting to panic about Sasha and his friends already. But then Marco’s words process and he stops, coming back to the slightly taller boy waiting for him in the darkness.

Marco doesn’t look the least bit hurt from what Jean said, smiling at him as he walks back over. Jean eyes him as he pulls out his phone. “What are you suggesting?”

“Walk me home.”

“Fine. Hold on.” It sounds harsher than he means. Marco stands still next to him while Connie’s phone rings. Jean’s heart beats out of his chest as he almost thinks he’s never going to answer, but it’s only two more  rings before he picks up.

“Holy shit Jean! You’re okay?! We thought you might be dead or something. You scared the shit out of us.” Jean can hear shouts around Connie on the other line.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Where are you guys?”

“We’re out by its giant dead body, man. Did you see that thing, Jean? What even was it? I heard the police are saying it actually _ate_ people, shit…” He trails off. “It’s the end of the world.” Jean listens to him scream ‘excuse me!’ to the shouting people around him before his voice becomes clear again. “Where are you?”

“I ran when I saw it. I’m over by…the library.” Jean glances at Marco, who’s raised an eyebrow at his lie. Jean closes his eyes. “I’m just gonna go home.”

“This thing’s so weird-looking…it’s dissolving right in front of us in a bunch of smoke. Some weird shit is going on, Jean.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ll call you later.”

Connie just continues to mumble to himself, and Jean ends up just shoving his phone back into his pocket before Marco chimes in.

“So nobody knows what that thing was?”

“I guess not.”

“I still can’t believe you’re the one that killed it. And you’re not even taking any credit!”

“I don’t want the credit, Marco. If it wasn’t you about to be killed, I would’ve just kept running.” Jean starts walking toward the open street, and he stops only when he realizes Marco isn’t following him. Didn’t he want to walk home? The Jean-train fueled by fear and exhaustion is leaving, and he needs to decide whether he wants on or off.

“So you weren’t just being heroic. It was _me_.” Jean feels himself opening his mouth to retort as he turns around, but he can’t. Marco’s right. It was him.  
“Yeah, well.” He stutters anyway. “We’re sorta friends, I wouldn’t want you dead or anything.”  
“That’s a relief.” At least Marco’s somewhat passed it off, coming up to walk with him.

They start walking then, finally. Jean’s anxious to move his feet. It’s dark now, and the police and fire truck sirens have somewhat died down in both of their minds to just a dull hum. They can hear people shouting from the other side of the building as they make their casual escape, and Jean notes that Connie, Sasha and the rest of them are probably over there among the crowd. The thought makes him walk faster. He and Marco walk side by side, somewhere along the way turning to casual conversations. Marco tells a short story about getting lost in the grocery store they pass, the time he spilled Starbucks on his only dress shirt the day of a job interview, his first dog running away. Jean’s quiet for most of it, still churning thoughts of how easily the boy next to him could ruin his life any moment he wants.

“Are you hungry?” Marco asks suddenly. Jean thinks back on his previously nauseous stomach as they looked over the side of the building. Somewhere along the way, however, he’d decided that he wasn’t ready to just walk Marco home just yet.

“A little bit.”

“I know a place where we could go, if you’re up to it. Or did your flying really drain you—“

“Shut up!” Jean says, actually reaching over to cover Marco’s mouth and nearly knocking off his glasses. Marco laughs it off and tears Jean’s hand away, but Jean had felt a little bit of Marco’s scar and feels his heart jump. He’d forgotten about the winding scar down Marco’s face, but he doesn’t seem to notice at all. Jean swallows. “Please don’t talk about it. At least not out here.” He breathes out slowly, calming himself. His short temper never really helped with the whole ‘no friends’ deal. But Marco is still strolling next to him, somehow. Jean swallows. “Yes, let’s go there. Wherever that is.” They walk in silence for a while, not exactly awkward I-saved-your-life silence, but the kind that’s covered with the sounds of cars passing them down the busy streets and bustle of people around them, all talking about the same thing. Jean and Marco ignore them.

 

“Here we are!” Marco says excitedly, fifteen minutes later. Jean looks up from his shoes to the diner, and nearly blinds himself. The neon sign and the obvious 50’s theme almost makes him cringe. Marco must not see his scowl as he stares through the glass windows. “Don’t get weirded out if people know my name here. My Dad owns the place.”

“Ah, a free meal, got it.”

“I’ll leave a tip!” Marco cries, shocked at the accusation. They walk up the steps and upon opening the door, Jean is overwhelmed by two girls rolling past him on roller skates and nearly running him clean over. The petite girl looks over her shoulder and smiles as an apology, and Jean recognizes her from school, though not in the small mini-skirt or holding a tray in one hand. The music that plays isn’t exactly the genre he blasts into his ears every moment at school, but Marco seems right at home with it, bobbling his head as he waves to the blonde girl. Christa, that’s it. The second girl is tall with a brown ponytail that flies out behind her, and she skates around to the long diner counter in front of them and through a back door without a glance. Jean looks around and realizes that the entire place is empty besides them. Marco still seems satisfied with everything.

They sit down at a booth, and the tall girl reappears, covered in freckles, not unlike the boy across from him.

“Evenin’, Marco.” She whips out a notepad from her apron. Jean looks around the place. Marco’s dad owns it? Jean didn’t even bother to look at the sign out front. Maybe this is the place that Reiner talked about that one time? Is he even friends with Marco? Jean never did pay too much attention when they all hung out. He’s such an asshole. The freckled girl continues. “You’ve got the place to yourself, boys. Didn’t you guys hear about that monster downtown?” She suddenly slams a hand on the table, and raises an eyebrow at Jean. He stares up into her cat-like eyes. Does she know it’s him? From how she’s glaring he gets the unsettling feeling that she did.

“Yeah. We just came from over there.” Marco answers for him.

“Did you guys see it go down? I heard it started disappearing as soon as it hit the ground.” Jean nods nervously as she continues to stare him down. Marco smiles at her.

“Ymir, this is Jean Kirschtein.” She raises a hand and wiggles her finers, smile not even trying to reach her eyes. “Jean, this is Ymir. She’s not usually like this. She’s just trying to read you, that’s all.”

Jean knows exactly what that means. Class periods filled with anxious lessons taught by frowning faces about how some people can “read you”, how dangerous they are, how they need to be eliminated. How people who can fly are a threat.

“Oh,” is all Jean can say. She winks at him.

“Nice job taking it down today, buddy. And seriously, slow that heartbeat of yours, I’m sure Marco can hear it too—and he’s completely normal.” Then she ruffles Marco’s hair. “Now, what can I get for our local hero and his freckled friend?”

Marco orders a milkshake. Jean doesn’t know if his stomach can handle it, but he orders the same thing. Ymir skates away, and Marco leans over the table, saying “it was Dad’s idea for the weird skates. He made them train and everything.” Jean can’t stop himself from blowing off Marco’s trivia.

“Why did Ymir tell me she could read people? Why did she tell _you_?”

“Jean, lots of people are like you guys. It’s not some disease. It’s a mutation.”

“That makes it sound so much better.” He shakes his head down at the checkered table. “Why do you know, though?”

“Well to be honest, I think my Dad just feels bad for some of them. He can tell they’re trying to hide something most of the time, so he hires the weird ones. Ymir’s pretty bad at hiding her reading,” he says, laughing to himself.

“So…Christa?”

“Yeah.”

Ymir comes skating back to them and places their milkshakes on the table, Marco immediately reaching for his and attacking the straw within seconds.

“I’m very aware that you were just talking about me,” is all Ymir says, and then skates back in the direction she came. “And have some manners, Marco Bodt” she calls, to which Marco squints his eyes in her direction before she goes through the door saying over her shoulder; “I heard that!”

Jean watches as Marco turns back to him, still smiling gently in only the way he could.

“So tell me. Tell me everything.” Jean swallows a tiny bit of his milkshake, going to stir it distractedly instead.

“Everything about what?”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

Jean rubs the back of his neck. He doesn’t know how he managed to be so fearless an hour ago when now he’s finding it hard to finally lock eyes with the only person with whom he can start to feel a tiny bit of trust forming. 

“Well, you know this already. I’m—“ He can't even say it, and in his fit of nerves all of the lights in the entire diner flicker simultaneously along with Jean's unsteady inhale. When the lights settle back on, he watches as Marco laughs around his straw, looking up at the ceiling in awe, his scar stretching around his smile. Jean is starting to think that it might be okay to say it out loud, if he says it softly. Marco slurps loudly on the end of his straw. Jean tries not to smile.

“I can do all of this crazy shit because…I’m an Elect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know what you’re thinking- what? What are half the things she's mentioning? What is Jean so afraid of? Why did I decide to read this?  
> Before you boo me off the stage just know that everything will be answered relatively soon. just hold on.  
> I’m gonna try for an update every week (every Wednesday??) but knowing me I probably won’t be able to do it (it’s the thought that counts??)  
> You can follow/message me at jacklalonde.tumblr.com for any questions or concerns.. or just leave a comment below if you’d like! Thanks so much, guys. I'm already really enjoying writing this au and I'm hoping you'll stick around to see more of it! :)


	2. A Metaphorical Invisibility Cloak

When Jean was thirteen years old, he knew something was wrong.

 

 Something was always wrong, though, especially with how his small world worked around him. Of course, he was raised into loving his tiny life; growing up fed and playing and normal. For a while, he fell for it—all the things they told him. He grew to love digging up worms in the yard and video games and everything the small kids around him liked. He watched the morning report with his parents with a happy smile on his lips. But then he started listening closer. He watched the plastered smiles on the faces on TV, and he grew to recognize what lied underneath the chipping gold paint. He began to wake up early without his parents to watch the news about them, sitting in his boxers with a bowl of sugary cereal as the TV started up. It was always the same topic at that sort of hour—the Elects. Being arrested, persecuted, killed.

He doesn't remember what video game he was playing when it happened, but it was a good one. His hands hugged the controller in a death grip and he was battling the same boss level for the thousandth goddamn time. He’d felt something rushing in him as his character fell off of the cliff _again_ ; before the light flashed behind his eyes and he slammed down the A button with his thumb. There was a hum of voltage in front of him and as he sucked in a short breath the entire TV burst into flames. Jean didn’t know how to react to the tingling spreading down through his hands and ended up being carried out of his room by his mother while his father grabbed the fire extinguisher. After inspecting the wall outlet, it was decided that the entire thing must have overheated. “I always knew a TV in his room was a bad idea,” his mother had muttered, shaking her head. Jean never said anything of it.

 

He was five years old when his mother began to work for the Wall. He doesn't remember a time when his father didn't. While Jean sat at the dinner table with his fork and knife in either hand, demanding to be fed, his newly-working mother would still be conversing with his father by the stove (and by conversing, that meant an educated but loud discussion about what had happened that day at headquarters). Jean had grown up to it—it was almost a comfort to him, at some point. His mother would sit him on her lap and talk of the criminals who were on screen; usually at some sort of trial or wanted for a hefty reward. It was a quiet buzz in his ear his entire life—his mothers words telling him that someday they’ll finally get rid of those _Elects_. The way she said it was like slow-dripping venom that settled in the back of his mind.

Other kid’s parents weren't as passionate about them, as most people don’t get the privilege of working in the defensive branch of the Council of Sina (nicknamed the Wall long before his time). Jean just happened to have it drilled into his system by the time he could walk. Most kids just knew that being an Elect meant being different, and if you were one, you could never act on it. If you wanted to live a crime-free life, that is. Those who did show it were the ones on TV. The ones with pictures flashed in the corners of screens, the ones plastered all over downtown. If you were one, hide it. Because more often than not, they never could get away fast enough.

 

So thirteen-year-old Jean, when suddenly rising off of his feet and to the top of the shower while trying to hold in his screams, decided to keep it a secret. He assumed that’s what most of the other Elects did. He’d pressed his hands against the tile surface and waited until he’d somewhat calmed down before forcing himself back into gravity. When he stared at his fingertips and watched the sparks dance before his eyes, illuminating his face in the dark, he knew that he either had to hide it or it was only a matter of time.

And so the invisibility cloak went on. Avoiding everyone was even more suspicious, so Jean settled on keeping his distance. It helped keep him out of trouble—he probably would have pumped a few people full of lightning by now if he didn't. Still short-tempered and blunt, Jean should be somewhat thankful that he has to hide his powers. It helps keep most of the other parts of him invisible, too.

 

“Yes, I’m aware of that,” Marco answers, and Jean jerks up, the last word of the confession he’d muttered still hanging in the air between them. For a second, he’d forgotten where he was, who he was; petrified with fear of what he’d finally said out loud. But Marco has hardly reacted. “Continue.”

Jean can barely take how casual he’s being about this. Does he realize what this means? This is the first time Jean has said it out loud. Everything feels surreal.

“Hey, calm down,” Marco tells him.

Flushing pink and clenching his fists, Jean retaliates. “My mom and dad work for the Wall, so don’t fucking tell me to calm down.” Marco does react to that, raising his eyebrows and then nodding slowly. His hand twitches where it’s rested on the table.

“Okay, that makes more sense. Don’t calm down, then.” Jean’s anger disintegrates as quickly as it came. He’s such an asshole. Marco clears his throat and tries to continue. “Ymir and Christa’s families aren’t anywhere near the Wall. Telling me was easier for them, probably.” Jean nods too, finally disregarding the straw and taking a decent swig of his milkshake like he’s throwing back a couple shots. Goddamn, it’s really good. Reiner probably did talk about this place before—he thinks he remembers something about vanilla milkshakes.

“I don’t know why I can do any of it,” Jean says.

“Do any of you?”

“I don’t think so. But I’d never met another one of them, until just now. My parents never let me—“

“Gotcha.”

 

Marco forces only a few stories out of him. Like when he first realized he could summon electricity from somewhere far in his bones. The first time he really flew. The time he nearly barbecued one of the neighborhood cats. Over the next hour, Jean discovers that Marco Bodt has the talent of distracting him from the fact that they both nearly died a couple hours ago, and he’s grateful to try to forget for a few minutes. The milkshakes are sucked down and, groaning, Jean leans his head against the back of the red booth behind him, a massive brain freeze starting to take over.

“Any other stories for me?” Marco asks.

Jean rubs at his temple, pushing the icy hell away. "That’s basically it. I've been hiding it for this long, and there’s no chance I’m gonna stop now." This time, Marco nods understandingly. He takes his glasses off and rubs at the cracked corner with his thumb distractedly.

“I get it. I’d do the same thing.” Jean watches Marco’s downcast gaze. Honestly, he doesn't think Marco would hide it. He probably wouldn't last a year.

“It’s more than just hiding it from people,” Jean mutters, looking down again. “Before I got dragged into going out for pizza, tonight was going to be the night that I flew for the last time. I was gonna go down to Trost Park and just sit in the big trees. Nobody’s ever there at night, so I go there a lot. Flying up the hills is fun.” Jean smirks to himself at the memories. “But tonight was supposed to be the last time. I just want it to _stop_.”

“Could you stop it if you wanted to?”

“I don’t know. I was gonna try. You know, see if I can start acting normal until after graduation. See if it disappears altogether.”

“I wish you wouldn't.” Marco puts his glasses back on and glances up, his eyes filled with a hurt that Jean isn't used to. He moves to set his shoulders back. What does this guy know about him? Only what he’s told him. Marco’s never felt the way his parents look at him when he retreats back to his room. How he used to have to keep from touching something so as to not shoot it full of thousands of watts of electricity. The hell does Marco know, anyway?

“What do you want me to do, then? Swoop in and grab my diploma?”

“It’d be the highlight of graduation,” Marco says, ever lighthearted. His easy laugh makes him press the heel of his hand to his stomach again, stopping short. Jean watches before crossing his arms and pressing them tightly against his chest.

“I’m not doing that.” Jean says, forcefully. He sounds like a whining child, but he just can’t bring himself to care. “And I’m not gonna fly again, especially after today.”

Marco doesn’t answer for almost a minute, and Jean can feel himself caving in. He’s ruined it. He meets one person he can trust and he ruins it.

“What if I told you I wanted to see you fly again?”

“I’d say you’re completely insane.”

“Yeah. It’s completely selfish of me. But…I don’t know. I’m so normal, and you’re so—” Marco only tries to move his hands wildly, and Jean’s face flushes without warning. “Just one time, maybe?”

Jean shrugs slightly and hopes that Marco gets the hint.

 

They sit there for another hour, and if Jean bothered to check his phone he’d see that morning was rapidly approaching and that his eyes are slowly starting to drift closed. Jean jolts back awake so quickly that Marco stops mid-story, placing his second milkshake back on the table (Ymir had told him that he’ll throw up if he tried to chug another and he’d simply stared back at her, sending some sort of telepathic message, until she turned and skated away).

“Okay Jean, you’re nearly falling asleep…and I need to process everything.” He stretches his arms overhead and yawns. “We should get back before there’s a chance we get mugged on the way home.”

“I think we've both had enough trauma for one day,” Jean mutters as they stand, and Marco laughs loudly before fishing for money from his pocket and shoving a few crumpled bills roughly onto their table.

“Thank you, Ymir” Marco calls, and there’s a shout of acknowledgement from the kitchen as Marco bounds out the front door. “Thank you,” Jean says, and waits for a response. Instead, Ymir peeks her head out of the kitchen. She waits until the door slams shut behind Marco before she opens her mouth. It’s the first time he thinks he sees a little bit of emotion cross her face.

“Thanks for saving him.”

 

While they’re walking away from the diner, Jean remembers to finally look behind him. He’d been so out of it coming here that the entire time he had no idea where they actually were, and now he looks up to where the glowing neon sign reads— _Bodt’s Sock Hop_. He almost falls to the fucking ground; he can’t stop the bubbling laugh that comes from his throat without warning. Marco must hear him try to stop himself because he turns around to where Jean is nearly doubled over. “Bodt’s Sock Hop?” Jean asks. The cheesy 50’s theme, the checkered floors, the jukebox playing Elvis in the background. It all clicks into place.

“My father is a mysterious man,” Marco jokes, waiting for Jean to catch up to him. The glow from the dazzling sign above them catches Marco’s scar before he turns away. Jean doesn't stop himself in time.

“How’d you get that scar?” Jean nearly bites his tongue off. Damn his blunt nature. He needs to learn to shut up, honestly. Jean mentally punches himself in the face as Marco sets his shoulders and looks Jean straight in the eye. There’s a hint of what lies underneath his gentle nature, for a moment. Or maybe it’s just the light.

“I got hit by a car.”

  
Jean should really learn to shut up.

 

They walk to Marco’s street, in the outskirts of downtown Sina. Really, they’re only a couple blocks from Jean’s house, in the Wall district. The houses there are smaller, almost stacked on top of each other heading up the rocky, cliff-like edges of Sina. Marco’s neighborhood is filled with spaciously set houses, the buzz from inside the homes dying down as people head to bed one by one. There’s a chance many of them will be up together, talking about the monster downtown, unable to understand it all. Jean silently agrees with them, glancing towards the skyscrapers of downtown Sina behind them.

Marco starts to walk away from him after saying a short goodbye, and Jean almost lets him.

“Hey…” Jean starts. When he turns back and Jean starts to raise his eyes from the street, Marco is already looking back at him, unafraid. Aware of what he is. Jean can still barely believe it.

“Mhm?”

Jean feels like the world is crashing in on him when his voice cracks. “I never asked for your number in class, and I forgot to ask for it tonight…”

Marco looks dazed for a moment. “Oh, right, of course! You’ve got some flying to show me. At Trost Park, sometime next week? I’ll bring snacks.” Jean stares at him; his slightly torn t-shirt and tousled hair. And without meaning to, he nods. Whether he admits it or not, losing himself in Marco’s company was something that he wouldn't reject repeating. He enters his number into Marco’s phone, smile tugging at his lips. Marco almost feels like a friend, even if he’s really just a kid who he happened to save from certain death.

“If you see any monsters attacking over here, I’m the sixth house on the left!” Marco shouts, starting to walk away. He throws his arms out. “I’ll be waiting to be rescued!” Jean shoves a hand in his pocket, feeling his electricity come back to him as his heart picks up the pace. He tries to push it back down as Marco yells over to him “bye, Jean!”

“Bye, Marco.” Jean answers.

Jean thinks the pit in his stomach as he watches him walk might be something other than fear. He doesn’t think Marco will rush to turn him in when he reaches his house. He doesn't think he'll reach for his phone and call the Wall just as Jean has begun to think he's safe.

But it doesn't stop Jean from watching his silhouette until he turns a corner and disappears from his sight.

 

Tearing his sweatshirt off and throwing it down in the front room, Jean can smell that his mom’s cooked dinner. How nice. Both of his parent's have probably already gone to bed by now, exhausted from work as usual. But maybe the food is still warm. Jean walks through his empty house as he suddenly threatens to burst into tears, surprisingly glad to be in his home and not sitting in pieces in a giant monster's stomach. He’s just started to groan in exhaustion and cover his face when he realizes that someone else is in the living room. Peeking through his hands, Jean sees it's his father. Which is strange. He pulls Jean into his arms without explanation, which is even stranger. He then steps back and grips Jean by the shoulders. The permanent scowl that Jean has been developing over the years mirrors back at him as he can nearly see himself reflected in his father’s amber eyes.

“Where’ve you been?!”

“…with friends.” It’s his default answer. They never catch on.

“You’re not hurt? It didn't hurt you?” Jean stares at him before he remembers.

“No, no. It didn’t hurt me. It was fuc— really scary, though.” Jean’s father lets go of his shoulders, and Jean can feel how his thumbs were digging into flesh.

“You saw it?”

“Yeah.” Jean’s eyes fall to the brightness on the other side of the room. Their house is small and plain, but right now Jean loves its simplicity. His brain is already crowded enough, and the moving pictures on the TV across the room make his head pound. “It was huge," Jean adds. On the screen, mediocre footage is being played of the monster from only a couple hours ago. A red banner flashes across the screen: _Terror in Sina: Monster’s Rampage Horrifies_. “But who took this beast down?” the tranquil newswoman asks. Jean gulps. 

Jean’s father has been watching too. “It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen. An actual monster. I don’t know if we can take another supernatural problem besides…those.” Jean has learned not to flinch. He feels like melting right through the carpet. “I don’t know what to think of it.” Jean’s father walks briskly away, heading towards his study.

“Where’s Mom?” Jean calls after him.

“She’s on a late case. Look, you must be exhausted. Eat in your room,” he says, and Jean turns away gratefully. His father will be up until the early hours of the morning watching the news special and doing every bit of research he can on his study’s computer. This event will take up most of what he talks about for the next couple weeks. He’s like this with every bit of Sina news—anything that concerns the city, concerns him. Ditching dinner and heading toward his room, Jean squeezes his eyes closed and lets out one panicked sob, hoping that there’s no way in hell his father could come across a picture of him flying Marco up a building.

  
  
Jean lies in bed, awake. This isn’t a surprise at all. Eyes refusing to close, fast beating heart; he expected this. He knew this would happen as he’d stirred his milkshake with Marco across from him. All he sees are the eyes. Nothing but the eyes, watching at every moment, and the teeth snapping closed around him as soon as he nearly finally welcomes the darkness. He ends up moving to his window and lifting off the ground to fly to the roof of his home instead, even if it’s only a few feet above his top story window. Marco’s words come back to him as he floats up slowly, telling him that he shouldn’t stop himself from flying. Sitting with his head rested on his drawn-up knees, he tries to forget the sound of the people’s screams and the blood of the ones he didn’t bother to save. He tries to pretend that he simply climbed up here, instead.

He can see Maria and Rose from here, over the next couple hills. He can see the stars above, if he squints. He can see Marco’s neighborhood easily.  
Jean wonders if he’s looking back.

 

The school newspaper, previously untouched, is a hit the following Monday. There’s a photograph blown up on the front page, courtesy of Sina High's very own Armin Arlert—head of Newspaper Club. Jean had missed the camera hanging around Armin’s neck at dinner on Friday, but in his defense Armin _does_ wear it all the time. Jean didn’t think it mattered. Until Armin took a picture of the freshly decaying monster that had stood only a few feet away from Jean's face, its teeth fallen open and dead eyes looking back at the camera and into the reader's soul. The articles filled with pointless facts about the school’s swim team or a new running record is replaced with a huge headline that anyone could see from across the room. Jean holds the paper at an arm’s distance, debating whether to shove it into his locker and avoid reading what’s underneath the bold words “Hometown Hero: Who Took Down the Titan?” or to just rip the damn thing in half. That’s what they’ve decided to call it. A Titan. A giant. The monster who won’t let him sleep. The answer to Armin’s question is holding the thin paper tightly in his hands, jumpy and eyes itchy from exhaustion. He pops open the tab of another energy drink in pure defeat.

“Hometown hero, huh?” Jean hears over his shoulder. He nearly spills his drink, bumps his shoulder into his locker and swears before turning around. Marco stands, waiting, grinning like only he can. His glasses are still broken in the corner, but other than that, he looks unscathed. Over the weekend, Jean felt like if Marco had come to school with a cast on one arm, he’d feel even worse than he already does. Jean does notice that he’s wearing long sleeves despite the fact that summer’s nearly a couple weeks away. Marco sees him looking and lifts up a sleeve. Purple and green bruises litter his body underneath the freckles, and Jean feels just as bad as he thought he would.

“I bruise really easily, he says. “Though I did hit that roof pretty hard.”

“Sorry,” Jean mutters. The word is still somewhat unfamiliar to him. The only person who deserves an apology is standing in front of him, though. He did throw him down on a roof.

“Nobody knows, right? I haven’t seen anyone looking at you weird today. Nobody’s asked me if I'm all right or anything. No one knows.” Marco leans in. “It’s incredible. Is this what it feels like all the time?” Jean rolls his eyes, raising his drink to his lips, tasting its artificial poison. These things should be made illegal. He hasn't slept in what feels like an eternity. Marco eyes him as he gulps down half the can. “Can’t sleep?”

“Barely.”

“Did your parents find out?”

Jean once again nearly spills his drink as he reaches to cover Marco’s mouth. Marco grabs his wrist before he can.

“They will if you keep screaming to all of Sina about it," Jean snarls. It’s Marco’s turn to roll his eyes, and when he smiles, Jean can’t help but begin to mirror it.

“Can I have some of that?” Marco asks, pointing to the fiery red drink that's currently maintaining Jean’s life force. Jean is barely willing to hand it over.

 

The only time to see each other is at Cooking, and it stays like that over the next couple days. Marco is at another small station down the counter from him, too far to say anything without being noticed. Jean feels like he can't do anything but wave when Marco says hello to him, much less try to get an actual conversation in. But then, without warning, Marco asks to swap places with the girl who’s been next to Jean all year, and she silently agrees after Marco only smiles at her for a second. While the teacher up front is talking, they simply stand next to each other, eyes ahead. But Jean can feel those slight butterflies again, just from knowing someone wanted to stand next to him. And knowing that that someone is the boy who's life he somehow saved.

Here he gets a close up view of how Marco works, dicing peppers in what seems like seconds, and Jean can’t help but think _how the hell does he do that_. He struggles to simply keep his pepper on the counter.

“What the fuck, man. Can you do mine for me?” Jean asks. Marco moves over to his cutting board, grabbing Jean’s knife and slicing the pepper in record time. Jean’s mouth falls open.

“My dad runs a restaurant, Jean. If I couldn't dice a pepper he’d disown me.”

"So you're a chef. Yet you're in a beginner's cooking class?" Marco just smiles down at his work, adding his finished ingredients to the bowl before gripping the edge of the counter. Jean remembers to look up again.

"And what are you, Jean? Since you're _obviously_ not a chef." Jean glares up at him and goes to pick up his knife. "Kidding. But what do you like to do?"

Jean spins the knife in his fingers. What is he? He's an Elect, he's a kid who hates mostly everything, he's invisible.

"Um," Marco has found his gaze again. "I like trees." Marco leans back from him. Jean tears his eyes away.  His blood pulses cold and he can feel his cheeks starting to match the pepper he's staring at. "You know. Plants and stuff. Or at least I did as a kid. Shut up, okay?" He can practically hear Marco smiling through his words.

"I didn't say anything."

 

Jean texts him at three in the morning, unable to sleep after only dozing off for a couple hours before the Titan’s jaws clamped around his head. Marco texts back within a minute, even as the moon's already lifted high into the sky.

_Jean: can we go to the park_

_Marco: You’re still up for that?_

_Jean: fine, forget about it._

He waits for half an hour before he gets another message, sitting on his roof again. It’s a cold night and he’s too lazy to float back to his room for a jacket, so he pulls his arms in through his sleeves and shivers until he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket.

_Marco: Sorry, I fell asleep. Tomorrow night? 9?_

_Jean: don’t forget the snacks!_

_Marco: Who do you think I am???_

And with the promise of snacks, Jean makes it through another day. He then treks out to Trost Park, nestled in one of the tall hills between Sina and Maria. He’s early, and the sun is still setting over the leaves, so he immediately takes to the trees. He feels like it's been years since he's done this.

 Letting himself lose the drawn in eyebrows and fierce gaze, he touches the bark of the biggest tree he can find before reaching for the nearest branch and starting to climb. It’s cheating as he’s making himself weightless, and halfway up he gives up the act and sways between branches, putting his hands out on either side of him and weaving himself to the top. This is why he always did this, just so he can cherish these few moments. He feels utterly alive; something that’s hard to feel, lately. Being surrounded by nature and silence and calm, that's what he really likes. Sina's tall buildings make him feel like he's suffocating slowly, unless he's above them.

He waves to a squirrel on the way up that blinks at him with beady black eyes, and flies as far as he can until the branches start to get scarily small. Jean finds a sturdy one to sit on while he watches the sunset; a brilliant orange leading to purple behind him, washing his face in the sunlight he doesn't get enough of. He forces himself to stop thinking and just enjoy himself for once, and within a few minutes he feels the world begin to slip away.

“Jean!” He nearly falls off his branch when he faintly hears someone calling his name. Sucking in a breath and looking down, he sees that seventy feet below Marco is standing, carrying a blanket in one hand and a basket in another, beaming up at him. Up here, he doesn't think Marco can see the way his cheeks flare up, because he thought Marco just wanted to see him fly and was gonna bring a few snacks—not a _moonlight picnic._  Honestly, this kid takes food too seriously. Jean dives headfirst toward the ground, trusting himself to swoop himself back onto his toes so that he nearly runs right into the boy in front of him. He can still see him in the light of the moon, but Marco almost looks menacing as he lifts his basket high above his head.

“I may be late, but I bring food,” Marco says, and then shoves the basket into Jean’s arms. “Also, there’s branches in your hair.” Jean shakes his head quickly before Marco can reach over to pluck them out. He then goes to open up the woven basket, already feeling his mouth star to water. Oh god, what sort of gourmet surprises await?

There’s two peanut butter jelly sandwiches and a water bottle filled with Coke.

“Shit, did you trade your cooking skills for the basket?” Marco lies the blanket out on the ground a little ways away, in the grass next to the line of trees.

“It’s late and I was in a hurry,” Marco defends, sitting down. Jean pulls out one of the sandwiches. Even if it’s Marco’s idea of crude food, it’s still meticulously cut into two perfect triangles, no spilling of either condiment on any side.

“I’m starving,” is all Jean says about it, and places the basket next to them. It’s getting darker by the minute as they both silently eat their sandwiches, and Jean doesn't know when it happened, but he’s looking up at the sky.

“You want to be up there, I can tell.”

“Stop watching me, then,” Jean bites. Marco tears off part of his sandwich with his teeth and shrugs. But as soon as Jean swallows his last bite he stands, getting ready. He glances down at Marco once and then wordlessly lifts from the ground. He can feel the warm air sailing past, his static hair blowing back off his face. Weaving left and right, and dodges the line of trees and shoots back across the field. He drags his hand across the tall grass and then takes off back towards the open air. He keeps his eyes on the stars this time, moving faster and faster, until he thinks that if he reached a hand in front of him he could take one of his own.

And then Jean stops mid-air, all too aware of what he’s doing. He looks down, Marco and his picnic a small square below him. Jean thinks he sees him waving. He whips his head up back toward the stars, breath going ragged and fists tightening. The moon’s light is too bright and illuminating as he hovers all too close to the people who’d give anything to see everyone like him dead. He shouldn't be doing this. It’s wrong—he’s wrong, _he’s wrong_.

He falls, then, and it’s an even better feeling, because for a moment he doesn't think he’ll stop. But he catches himself on the still air, and then slowly moves to land on his feet, exhausted. Flying always does this to him. He falls to his knees before flopping forward on his face, head pounding.

“You okay?” Marco asks.

“This was a bad idea,” Jean says into the grass. He doesn't bother to move.

“I know it tires you out and everything but Jean, that was amazing. This is what you were born to do—you look so free up there, and—“ he stops himself as Jean rises to his elbows, not bothering to wipe the dirt from his cheek.

“I can’t do that again.”

“What?”  
Jean hisses it through his teeth. “I’m not flying again."

“But—“

“You don’t fucking get it."

"What don't I get?"

"You don't fucking get that I’m never gonna be like them, Marco. Like you! I’m an Elect, one of the _chosen ones_ , the ones _chosen to be fucked up!_ It’s not beautiful, it’s dangerous. It doesn’t make me free, it reminds me that I’m even more trapped than I thought.” Jean rushes to his feet. He’s getting angry; his jaw setting and grimace settling back into place. He watches Marco start to recoil as he spreads his arms. Volts and sparks cascade over his arms, his teeth starting to bare. “This doesn’t look dangerous to you? You still want to try to be my _friend_ , knowing that I could kill you at any moment?”

“You’re not gonna kill me.” He seems so sure of it. Jean aims a finger like a gun at his head. Marco's eyes lock on the pointed finger. “You saved me a week ago, Jean. I don’t know why, but you did. So put down your hand before your hard work goes to waste.” Jean feels the voltage worsen until it’s surrounding him, the lightning visible in an arc above him, until the world falls dark and he feels his head hit the ground.

Jean’s eyes snap open to Marco’s face above him. He watches Marco's scar move into a half-smile as Jean reaches to rub the back of his head.

“So your powers really do wear you out,” Marco murmurs. Jean wants to go back to sleep, he’s so fucking tired.

"How long have I been asleep?"

"A couple minutes." Jean rolls over on his side, his eyes closing tighter when he remembers.

“I went all insane on you. Sorry.”

“You scared me, for a second.”

“I wouldn’t actually have done anything.”

“I know.”

Jean listens to the crickets around them for a minute, before he starts to move his head from the grass.

“I’m just not used to…any of this."

“This?” Marco asks.

Jean feels like admitting it makes it worse. “I don’t have that many friends.”

“What about Connie? Sasha?”

“They’re nice, but that’s the problem. I’m an asshole.”

“A little.”

Jean rolls over to grimace toward him. “Hey.”

“You almost killed me.”

“Let go of the past," He mutters, and smiles softly when he hears Marco laugh.

 

Jean falls asleep again, still exhausted from how much electricity was ripped from his insides. Marco wakes him up an hour later with a gentle kick to the side. He’s holding the picnic things, and Jean cracks his neck as they both start walking back down the hill, the back of his head still pulsing from his collision with the ground.

"I wont ask you to show me again." Marco says it quietly while they walk. Jean knows for sure he's scared him off this time. But Marco doesn’t seem too afraid of him, still. He keeps his serene smile as they walk. "But we should hang out again some time." Jean nods in agreement, turning his head toward the trees before letting a small grin break out across his face.

Marco is dropped off at his street again, and after they say their goodnights, Jean doesn't move until he's turned the corner.

 

He finds Armin with Sasha and Connie, huddled together in the hall and trying not to get swept away with the people still rushing past them. He and Armin have Ancient History together and Jean needs the notes from today—he’d spaced out during class and he doesn’t think Armin hates him too much. Sasha and Connie turn around at the same time, and Armin looks up at him, smiling. Jean tries to settle his grimace into something neutral.

“Hi,” Jean says. They all greet him, somewhat warily. “How are you guys?” He asks. It sounds shaky. He'd spaced out imagining if the Titan had gotten to Marco before they reached the roof, and he hasn't really been able to shake the feeling it left within him since.

“Just fine, Kirschtein," Connie answers. "We all voted for a pizza redo day next week, since last time went a little…shitty. You in?” Jean doesn't want to think of all the reasons he should say no. So he agrees.

“Someone’s in a good mood!” Sasha chimes, punching his arm, to which Jean glares.

"I heard there's a bake sale in the cafeteria today," Jean deadpans, and Sasha's eyes light up on cue.

"Sasha," Connie warns, but she's already gripping his arm. And then they're gone, charging around the corner toward the front of the school. Jean knows he has about thirty seconds before Mikasa or Eren show up to stand by Armin's side, and he honestly doesn't want to deal with the latter.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” Jean asks. Armin nods slightly. “I didn't get anything from History today. Could I copy your notes?”

“We didn’t just take notes, Jean,” Armin starts. Jean stares in confusion while Armin goes through the multiple worksheets and handouts he didn’t know existed. And then Armin cocks an eyebrow at Jean’s blank face at the end of his spiel.

“You didn’t do any of it?” Jean shakes his head slightly, not as ashamed as he should be. Armin lets out a tiny sigh.

“Okay, I’ll help you. I don’t think there’s a Newspaper meeting today…” He trails off, in thought, and Jean takes in a breath, remembering the camera that swings softly across Armin's chest.

“You took the picture of the Titan, right?” Jean swallows, heart already starting to race. Armin nods. Jean tries to prevent his cheeks from getting too flushed as he unconsciously wipes his hand over his face. “Oh. You didn’t get any other pictures? Of it when it was…alive?” Trying to keep his gaze steady, he probably looks like he's in actual pain. But Armin only shakes his head, looking at Jean like he's somewhat crazy. Jean feels it, to be honest.

“No, I’m not _insane_. I only got close to it when it fell.” Jean sighs in relief, hopefully too quiet for Armin to hear “We can head to the library after school—for History, if you’re up for it.” Jean nods.  
“Thanks,” he says, and almost on cue, Armin looks over Jean's shoulder and waves. Jean turns and sees Mikasa and Eren, both wearing Sina High t-shirts and starting to pick up speed once they realize who's looking back at them.

"See you, Armin," Jean says quickly, and makes a break for it, Eren's fire-filled eyes following the back of his head down the hall.

 

Carrying his History textbook in one hand and an emergency energy drink in the other, Jean walks through the library to meet Armin at one of the back tables. They quietly chat for a few minutes, Armin guides him through what he absolutely _needs_ to get done before tomorrow, and then Jean attempts to get to work. It takes a while, but eventually he stops balancing his eraser on his nose and actually begins to read, relaxing into his chair and sipping his energy poison to keep him awake.

Jean almost doesn’t notice it. Armin puts down his pen and reaches over for something in his backpack, and the pen rolls slowly before disappearing off the table. Then, out of the corner of Jean's eye (still sort-of reading a section of his textbook on World War I) Armin sticks out his hand without looking, flicks his wrist, and the pen jumps back to the table's surface. But Armin never touched it.

Jean stares at the unmoving pen for a minute afterwards, throat going dry.

“Armin,” he croaks, and Armin looks up from his book. Jean's eyes jump from the pen to the small blonde boy across the table, and back again.

“What—" Armin pulls back in shock, like he’s been hit, and then his face turn so red that it nearly reaches his fingers. Jean goes to open his mouth.

“I’m…I’m not…” Armin whispers, and Jean remembers that they’re in a library and that he was about to announce what they now both knew. Jean saw the pen move, saw the quiet concentration on Armin's face. He saw him move something _with his mind_. The faces on his television come flooding back to him, the people who could flip cars without moving a muscle. Armin's breath is short, and he's looking at Jean like he's ready for him to get up and drag him by the collar of his sweater vest to the Wall any second.

“Don’t freak out," Jean assures, raising his hands. "Here—“ Jean moves his own hands so that almost so they’re touching, wills the energy out of them and watches the sparks flick between them. "I'm one too." Armin pulls in a very audible breath and holds it. Thank god they’re in the back corner of the library.

“You’re…?” Armin starts. “You can do that?” Jean nods slowly, trying to slow his heartbeat. It was hard showing Marco, and it's hard now. “That makes so much sense.” Jean looks back at him, aghast.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Armin looks somewhere in the distance, nodding to himself. "You acting like you're so much better than everyone. You were just trying to hide..."

"The hell are you saying?!" Jean cries, his voice raising. Armin pushes a finger to his lips and Jean pulls back, reaching up to cover his mouth. They stare at each other in equal silence for what feels like eternity.

Armin is an Elect. There's another like him. Like him and Ymir and Christa. There's lots of them. And they're all hidden around him.

“Don’t tell anyone,” Jean says.

“Please,” Armin agrees.

 

He and Marco sit Armin down at Bodt’s Sock Hop (after closing hours, thanks to a set of keys hanging in Marco's house) the next day. Jean feels better being on the persecutor side this time, staring Armin down as he slowly reaches down for the plate of fries between them.

“How long have you been able to do it?” Marco asks.

“I don’t know…a couple years, maybe?”

“Does anyone else know?” Armin pauses this time. Jean narrows his eyes.

“Armin!” He shouts. The blonde boy flinches. 

“Eren and Mikasa do! Why do you care?”

Marco's voice is almost serene. “We’re just interested. You don’t have to talk too much about it. We just want to make sure you know we’re not gonna tell anybody.” Armin eyes Marco—and Jean watches as his wariness turns to trust in a couple seconds. Marco can do that. It’s weird.

Armin continues. “It just sort of slipped out one day, you know? My parents weren't around to see it, and I knew as soon as it happened. When it happened with you, Jean, I was so caught up in what I was doing that I forgot to stop myself.”

“You should be more careful," Jean says. It comes out harsher than he means. He silences himself with a handful of fries.

“I usually am. Mikasa makes sure nothing happens, most of the time. Eren needs all the help he can get—“ Marco breathes a laugh at that along with Armin.

“Eren too?!” Jean cries. Armin bites his lip. _Oh God, no, no, no_. Anyone but him. Marco looks at Jean and lifts his shoulders, waiting for his reaction. They're both thinking the exact same thing, and Jean wants to punch something _so badly_. A conversation with Eren about being an Elect. What has his life come to.

This time Christa skates up to the booth, smile full of glistening white teeth and blonde hair pinned up from her face. She bounces in her skates as she chimes ‘need anything?’ with a beaming smile. The three of them turn her down, and her smile starts to fall a little when she sees their tense shoulders and Jean’s vicious glare.

“What’s the matter?” Christa's question seems to be directed towards Jean in particular. Jean looks to the boy on his left and crosses his arms.

“Apparently I need to have a conversation that I really don’t want to have.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ugh, sorry for such a long wait on this chapter, guys!! I hope some things are somewhat starting to make sense now. It's late and I just want it to be finished right about now, so any typos and grammar will hopefully be edited away soon. thanks for being super patient and for the messages I've already gotten over this fic..I basically cry every time I see a comment or get a sweet message in my inbox. so tha nk s  
> I'll try to get back into the swing of updates again! (we'll see..) You can message me at jacklalonde.tumblr.com if you want..or leave a comment below if you'd like!! thanks again :)


	3. Birds of a Feather

It's on the walk back home when Jean hears it. It takes him a second, with how he's still trying to wrap his mind around a few things. The hot air feels like it's weighing him down, pushing him as far as it can into the ground, especially now with how it's got another monstrous thing to weigh him down. The humid weight reminds him that Eren is just like him, that he's _just like Eren_. Jean practically rips out his hair straight from the roots.

Marco had sensed something off about him immediately, as he's starting to be able to. Almost touching Jean's shoulder, he had said he'd walk home alone, this time. Still reeling, Jean had grunted in confirmation, risen from his seat and threw open the door to Bodt's Sock Hop. And so the downward spiral of thoughts had begun.

He's confused, and a little betrayed; and Marco must have seen it in his scowl. The universe has not only given Jean the ability to shoot sparks from his fingertips and battle the laws of gravity, but now it has given him Eren Jaeger.

There's no real reason that he should be so frustrated about this— it's only because of a few instances over the years that they hate each other so much. They were petty arguments too, even by Jean's standards. Lunch food in his hair one day. A flipped table another. But as it turns out, Jean's grudges don't disappear. Ever.

Lost in his mini-typhoon of dread, Jean suddenly begins to tune in to the sound of shoes slapping against pavement. The sudden noise of people all around him. He must have wandered downtown without realizing. Finding his way back into reality, he finally raises his eyes from the sidewalk.

To his left, repairs are still going on from the titan attack. Large brown boards block some shops' windows, the small buildings next to them completely crushed to the ground. Skyscrapers above him are a patchwork quilt of glass and wreckage, still. It'll take some time for Sina to get back on its feet. But in the meantime, people seem to be practically running all around him, not even bothering to excuse themselves as they rush past his shoulders.

As soon as they're close enough around him, Jean hears it more clearly. They all seem to be muttering, shouting, talking to one another about one thing.

'Titan'.

The noise only gets worse, the more towards the crowds Jean's feet travel. He hasn't bothered to look at any of the strangers' faces before now, but here he sees up close the lines of worry across foreheads and bitten lips all around him. Jean approaches a woman standing with one hand on a cellphone at her ear and the other pressed to her temple. He taps her shoulder, still eyeing the people around them. It wasn't that hard of a touch, but she whips around like a deer in the headlights, recoiling away from him. Jean looks down at his hand. He doesn’t  _think_  he shocked her, at least.

”What’s going on?” Jean asks, forgetting all formality and gesturing around him. The woman doesn’t even bother to cover the cellphone with her hand before she shouts.

"There was one in Maria!"

There's a moment when they simply stare each other, as it truly sinks in. "What?" Jean breathes. His wrists begin to fill with electric courage that the rest of Jean's body can't seem to match.

"A titan!" the woman cries in response. "My brother lives in Maria...oh, please pick up..." She's lost her attention on Jean altogether, and she rushes away with her red-painted lips still shouting in his mind's eye. A titan in Maria.

Jean hears more voices; one louder and echoing further than the others around him. He hadn't realized it before, but he's walked so far into the heart of Sina that he's already in the commercial district— where everything is too expensive for someone like Jean and the people always dress like they have somewhere to be. So it's understandable now that on one of the spared skyscrapers above, a grand television screen plays a reel of footage across the massive surface of the building. Those around Jean have stopped too, pausing to look up into the humid skies and the screen speaking above them. A blinking banner tells Jean that the things he's seeing are live, and then he nearly feels his legs give out under him.

Jean immediately goes to pull out his phone, eyes still locked on the screen. There's only one person he could call. Or, at least, there's only one person that he needs to call.

He picks up after half a ring. Jean doesn't waste a moment. "Marco. There was another."

Marco's voice is hushed. "I know. I just got home." Jean hears a door shut over the line after a few moments, and Marco's voice returns. "It's bad."

Jean gazes up at the huge, semi-decapitated head lying dead on the ground, just as terrifying when it's made of pixels on a screen. Wide, staring eyes, lolling tongue, steam rising from the decaying body that's melting to bone. Jean repeats the words onscreen, even though Marco's probably already watching the broadcast himself.

"It wasn't taken down for half an hour, even with Maria's forces shooting it like crazy. It destroyed half of downtown Maria. Their banking district is  _gone_.” Jean watches as people slowly gather around the corpse in Maria. Not unlike before, as he and Marco stood panting on the rooftop. “They don’t know how it died.” The camera zooms in to the slice along its neck. The voice behind the footage expresses their confusion over the 'phenomenon' of its death.

"Doesn't look like they shot it down," Marco says softly.

Jean only sees one other option. "Do you think that someone—"

"Yeah."

 

Maria's titan had been much worse than the one that struck Sina. This one was bigger; with a head of dark hair and a terrible grimace as scarring as the first. No one took it down for a long time— they're already talking about millions of dollars in damage city-wide, over a hundred deaths. (And Jean tries not to remind himself that  _every one_  of the victims were eaten.)

"A true, unexplained tragedy," an anchorman says solemnly. Jean turns off the TV, lies back on his sore muscles, and tries to keep his eyes closed. He's had enough of the Wall's broadcasting for one day. But the images still hold his attention, even with his eyes closed. No matter how tightly he squeezes them closed, the light flickers behind closed eyelids. So he decides to investigate what he knows while he attempts to nap—he might as well try to trick his body into letting him sleep.

The slash buried deep in the back of the second titan's neck was the work of an Elect, there's no doubt about it. They never said it, but Jean knew. He knew himself that he'd struck the back of that Titan's neck in an attempt to bring it down. Someone else must've known too.

His thoughts go slightly blurry after that, and he realizes that he's more tired than he originally thought just a moment too late.

 

It's been a day and Jean can't do anything. It's eating him from the inside, knowing that there was another titan and another catastrophe for him to think about. It's all that his parents talk about. They haven't made conversation with Jean about something that wasn't a titan in over two week. Not that Jean cares. Even if his graduation is in less than a month and they haven't once mentioned it. The only person Jean bothers talking to now is Marco, along with the occasional text to Sasha or Connie, who seem to be hung up on the titan as well. He finally decides to calm his train of thought by pulling out his phone, giving into the subject that he so badly wants to ignore.

_Jean: are you hearing what they're saying about that slice on it's neck?_

_Marco "unexplained". We both know it didn't just drop dead, right???_

_Jean: you really think that one of them took it down_

_Marco: One of you?? Yep. Definitely. They just don't want to be found out._

_Jean: why behind their neck? why there?_

_Marco: No idea. It's a good thing you shocked that thing in the right place, or I wouldn't be typing this right now :)_

Jean squints at that small smiley face. Fuck Marco and his optimism that makes Jean nearly break into a small smile himself. He rolls over onto his back, the remote on the couch underneath him digging into his back.

_Jean: pure luck. and hey, can you please delete all these messages after this_

He doesn't even need to explain why.

_Marco: Not a prob :) I've got your back, Hometown Hero._

 

Marco practically breaks Jean's back from how hard he knocks him into a row of metal lockers the following morning.

"Sorry!" Marco apologizes, laughing. Jean, gripping at his shoulder, looks up into Marco's mess of dark hair.

"Hi," Jean greets bitterly.  _Oh god_ , falling from fifty feet when he first taught himself to fly hurt a hell of a lot less than this.

"Hey. I've been talking to Armin a bit lately, and he said for me to pass on the message that we're meeting him at Sock Hop tomorrow morning." He nods for Jean, taking his slightly shocked face as confirmation. He lugs his couple of books further up in his arms. Jean watches him reach up to rub his scar once, almost nervously. The bruises that used to stain his arms have all but disappeared. Jean's not sure how he feels about it. Suddenly Marco's talking again, and the day suddely gets even worse. "And he's bringing Eren."

Jean wants to throw himself back into the metal locker behind him, maybe crush his scull while he's at it. "Since when have you even been friends with Armin?" He groans. Marco shrugs.

"Since I found out that he's good at English and can lift a car with his brain." Jean gasps exasperatedly, looking all around them. There's people  _down the hall from them_ , goddammit. "Yeah, I know." Marco says under his breath, reaching up to zip his lips. Jean lets his spirits sink further as Marco metaphorically locks his mouth closed.

"Look, Marco, I've got bigger things to worry about than a talk with Eren," Jean insists. "Another titan appearing, a biology project due in two days...I can't spend my time worrying about that guy."

"Jean," Marco practically whines. Someone passes too close to them, and Marco breathes the next sentence next to his ear, arm leaning against the locker next to him so Jean is all but trapped. He tries not to lean away from their close proximity. “Just be there, please.”

 

 

It's become the booth they go to every time, during Jean's third trip to Bodt's Sock Hop during closing hours. He's begun to wonder what it actually looks like when it's open, when there are more people than Ymir and Christa and whoever Marco decides to bring in that day. Their booth is next to a picture of Elvis popping a hip in sequins, cheesy records close enough to touch, and Jean likes it. But now that he's sucked into a pit of endless exhaustion, Jean bitterly wonders if Mr. Bodt created this place as some sort of joke.

The blinds are closed—only slight streaks of morning sky coming in through the windows, as each of them sit with their backpacks hugging their shoulders. Each waiting for this impromptu meeting to be over. Jean is tired, and Eren is in front of him, and he has two bullshit tests today. It's enough for him to forget his non-existent manners.

"So what can you even do?" Jean sneers to the boy across the booth from him. At least he was farther away that night at pizza, all the way across the long table with people between them. At least during all those other times they had all hung out there was someone as huge as mini-hulk Reiner to break it up if things got too bad. Now there's only a table, and like that one time—neither of them are probably too worried about flipping it. Jean watches Mikasa instinctively reach over to grip Eren's arm. Jean wishes he had the will to be civil right now, but knowing what the boy in front of him is, Jean already feels a slight crackle coming from his hands.

"You wanna know?" Eren taunts right back. 

He doesn't hesitate to stand. Eren moves from his seat, the fire that tends to ignite his eyes suddenly erupting from his shoulders until green flames spread to his hands and lick towards the sky, turning a brilliant orange at their tips. Other than being partially blinded in the dimly-lit room, Jean can hear each of their audible breaths as the rest pull back. Eren stands there, already smiling to himself like a madman.

"Fire?" Marco questions.

"He's an elemental," Jean confirms, taken aback despite himself. Being an Elect at all was rare, but this was different. Jean had seen one elemental Elect cuffed behind his back, his jaw bound tight, Wall officials surrounding him in the Elect-proof air, yet he had still burst into flames in his final moments. The memory had tattooed its way into Jean's mind. Now he squints at Eren, back still pressed against the back of the booth.

"You've been hiding that you're an elemental Elect, Jaeger? How the hell are you not dead?"

"By having some self-control," Eren spits, the tips of his hair catching the flames as he leers.

"What would you know about self-control?" Jean cries, tearing up from his seat. Both now aware of what the other holds, Jean lets sparks erupt from his palms and the fire rises from Eren's shoulders, set in a standoff. Eren barely reacts to the small lightning storm surrounding Jean's arms, so Jean makes it bigger.

“What about you, Mikasa?” Marco questions, ignoring Jean and Eren's locked gaze and the deadly things surrounding the two boys that are generating a hell of a lot of heat in the small restaurant. She shrugs.

"I'm not an Elect," she answers, fiddling with the red scarf loosely hugging her neck. Jean turns to her, raising an eyebrow. He would think that Mikasa of all people harbored some amazing ability, even if being an Elect  _was_  a death-sentence. If anyone could control the side effects of being born something like this, and maybe even use the side effects for something, Mikasa Ackerman would be the one. Instead she sits, as normal as the freckled boy across from her, turning to look at Eren. "I help keep him hidden."

"I can hide myself, you know," Eren says, the fire burning out from his hair.

"Yeah, like hell you can," Jean spits, turning back.

"Just stop it, guys," Armin says, more forceful than Jean knew he could be.

Eren and Jean are brought back into their seats by force once again, Armin sticking out his hand and tugs both of them forward by the straps of their backpacks. The dying crackle of both their powers going softer fills the room as Armin concentrates, pulling them along by sheer willpower. Jean sits as far away from the green-eyed elemental as he can, crossing his arms. Eren does too, and Marco looks between them before giving Jean the most obvious 'be nice' look in history. He then nods to Armin to continue.

"I've been researching," Armin says, breaking the silence. He moves his hands delicately, his laptop rising from his bag on its own. They all watch in awe, still. Jean doesn't think that anyone could ever get used to seeing something like that. "Since Jean killed the first Titan, and there was a second one in Maria—"

"Wait, I never told you that I killed it," Jean interrupts. He replays he and Armin's short confessions with one another. None of that conversation contained him telling Armin something so blackmail-worthy. Then it comes to light. "I only told—" He turns to the boy next to him. "Marco," Jean finishes, less intimidating than he means. Marco looks right back at him.

"I thought we could trust him?" Marco argues. Jean rolls his eyes.

"You told me you wouldn't tell anyone. This definitely counts as telling someone." He can feel his anger pooling in his stomach, but with Marco looking back at him, it falls short from what he needs for him to stand up and get out of here. He's already almost killed this kid; he should at least try to give him a break. So the beginning of his lecture is cut off, Marco's glasses inches from his face. He huffs and turns back to Armin. "Go on."

Armin turns his computer around with a twist of his finger. "Okay. I'll cut to the chase—there might be more. Titans. From what I've gathered, no officials have let go any sort of confirmation on what they are or what they want, other than killing and eating as many as they can. But if there were already two, and they're targeting downtown, there's bound to be more.” On his screen, there's two articles about the titans side by side. He points to both of them, watching for some sort of change in emotion on each of their faces.

"More?" Marco squeaks. Jean feels like the roof has just crumbled slowly on top of him.  _More_.

"There’s something they’re not telling us about them. There's so much we don't know.” Mikasa looks Jean dead in the eye, her calm expression scaring him even more than her words. It's true— Jean knew nothing more about the titans other than he can't stop having nightmares about them, and that they were massive, naked giants who were out to eat as much human flesh they could get their hands on. “There were two attacks, both out of nowhere. And the Wall has said barely anything about it other than the obvious.”

”Maybe they just don’t know…” Marco tries.

“Or they’re hiding it from us,” Eren bites. Jean scoffs. "The Wall are already trying to hold us Elects back and all of a sudden those fuckers show up? It's gotta be part of something bigger." Mikasa grips his arm again.

"So what do you want us to do?" Marco asks.

Armin's eyes settle on Jean. "I think we should form a team."

It takes Jean half a second to react. "Wait. What the hell?"

"Like the Extra Corps, but with us."

Jean feels his face flush, his muscles tighten. He's never heard someone say their name so loudly, so  _unafraid_ , before. It's always been whispered among kids, unspoken of by the Wall. It's the name that sends a line of fixed hatred to his father's mouth. Talking about the Extra Corps loud enough for others to hear was like swearing into an echoing church. No one besides Jean seems to shudder, though.

"Me, you, Eren, Mikasa.” Armin looks to Marco's spirits physically falling across the table and clears his throat. “And um, Marco, if you’d like.” What. No. What is is going on.

Armin wants them to become a  _team_. A team of kids with powers that can get them killed and kids who would probably get killed just for standing too close to them.

"Are you fucking with me, Arlert? Are you somehow under the delusion that that's possible just because I made a lucky shot once?" Blue eyes going stone cold for a moment, Jean is suddenly afraid that he might be thrown into the nearest wall.

"Someone needs to be ready if there are going to be more. And if the Wall's military couldn't take down the one in Maria for nearly an hour, then they need something that can. There's a chance that if the next one appears, it could be a bigger than either of them. One of us can't try to take it down alone." Jean crosses his arms, leaning back. This isn't their responsibility. Someone else could stop a titan, right? There's bound to be other secret Elects. Jean doesn't want to even think it, but the Extra Corps could just swoop in and save the day too, right? "I think that there should be a group—people who know that they can rely on each other. So that if there’s an attack, we can all go and help each other.” Armin has made up his mind, Jean can tell. Those blonde eyebrows have settled into a determined line. And Jean can't do much to fight it.

“How can I help?” Marco asks, slight mellowness behind his voice accompanied by him sliding a tiny bit further down into his seat. "I know I don't have any powers or anything, but I could do something."

"You’re moral support,” Armin suggests. Jean feels Marco's shoulders sag from how they're pressed together in the booth. Jean narrows his eyes at the jukebox across the room, as glaring at Armin across the table might get him tossed across the room. This isn't their fight. It's a fight that might not even exist. Yet here's Marco, anxiously raising his hand when he's not even one of them.

"Yeah, okay" Marco breathes. Jean feels eyes on him and when he lets his eyes flick over, Marco lets out a small, disappointed smile towards him. Jean looks back at him with disdain, thinking that someone like Marco shouldn't even be anywhere near people as dangerous as them right now.

 

Two days later and a new flurry of end of the year projects in tow, Jean sits on a faded gray couch that's collecting more dust than previously thought possible. Mikasa and Eren have been assigned the job of sewing and constructing masks, because that's apparently necessary. Hiding their identity while fighting potential Titans is on the top of Armin's list, along with getting them all enough snacks for an army every time they're together. Jean thinks they're just using these little hangouts as an excuse for him to have to spend more time with Eren, stuck in the close proximity of the Jaeger-Ackerman basement.

Eren’s attempts at sewing are crude, as he and Mikasa hunch over collected fabrics and plastic and whatever the hell they're fussing with over there. Jean and Armin sit across the basement's low coffee table trying to finish homework together, stuck on one question in particular as Jean's head starts to pound. As he reaches to rub at his temples Eren pricks his finger and his mouth opens to spew green fire that turns a blazing red as he screams. And Jean's headache heats up along with the temperature in the basement as Jean shouts back at Eren that if he knows what's good for him he'll shut the fuck up. Marco walks down into the basement a few minutes later carrying a takeout bag filled with Bodt's Sock Hop day-old pastries, and Jean doesn't care if they're a minute or weeks old. After everyone else politely declines Marco throws the bag to Jean and winks, sitting down next to him. Jean takes the bag gratefully, using his sticky fingers as an excuse to get out of writing the answer to that next problem for the next few minutes.

After a few more hours, the door to the basement opens and Eren’s mother walks lightly downstairs to offer them anything to drink, and Jean nearly dives under the table. It hits him like a bag of bricks—Armin isn't even bothering to pick up his pencil anymore while he writes and Eren's hands are  _literally on fire_. But she just smiles towards Jean as he sits, frozen, hands covered in frosting, and he realizes. She knows.

They couldn't keep it a secret for very long,” Armin admits. “With something like Eren’s fire…they were bound to find out.” Jean watches out of the corner of his eye as he and Mikasa laugh quietly about something, the sewing machine humming between them. Eren being himself, needing Mikasa's watchful eye on him most of the time—his parents would need to be blind not to realize. And so they did. Yet they never said anything. Never sent him away, never called the Wall. Just kept the secret.

Jean reminds himself in between a bite of apple turnover that his own mother and father would never do the same.

 

Jean had requested a black mask— because why the hell not; might as well look cool in Armin's little hero fantasy. But then, as Eren announced they were finished and took the previously secretive masks over to them, Jean was handed an orange one.  _Orange._  He nearly throws it back at Eren when he tosses it to him. "Couldn't find any black fabric," Mikasa says softly, and Eren next to her looks look he's just won the fucking lottery from Jean's expression. Jean narrows his eyes as Mikasa lifts her own red mask to her face. It matches the scarf around her neck, and Jean looks angrily down at his own once again. Eren's is a forest green, and he leaves it on his face longer than any of them, proudly showing off his hidden cheekbones. Armin's is a deep blue that of course compliments his eyes. Marco receives a yellow one from Mikasa purely because they look cool, and he nearly squeals about it as he puts his on.

Jean lifts the dumb orange mask to his face in front of the dingy mirror in the corner of the Jaegers' basement. Mikasa had taken this too seriously—and outdone herself, like mostly everything else she does. It's well tailored (it seems pressing a tape measure to his face wasn't worthless after all), and it's almost like they’d actually put them on someday. It fits Jean well; covers just enough of his face but still makes room for his amber eyes. He could probably still recognize himself because of his dumb two-toned hair, but if he were to pull up his hoodie again, no one would know it's Jean Kirschtein; asshat and secret Elect. It’s not too bad. If only he wouldn't have to potentially face another titan wearing it.

Jean stuffs it away in his pocket, and hopes he’ll never have to put it on again.

 

 

He has been up since three in the morning, pacing his room and waiting until the first sliver of sun to peek over the horizon before moving to water his plants. They line his windowsill in an organized array, patiently awaiting his care. A pot of pansies, assorted herbs, more plants than one person could ever need. It takes a lot to keep them alive, with the regulated Wall gardens not permitting these sort of plants in his yard. Jean's room and two windowsills would have to do.

He opens the window for them with a slight creak, his eyes stinging from how long he's been up and the sudden bright light. Looking out over his slanted neighborhood, Jean tries to get his eyes to close just so he can look away. They won't budge.

"Here you go, guys" Jean says softly to no one, reaching for his small watering can. So he's a boy that talks to his plants—it's not the weirdest thing about him. He just likes the way their leaves look when the sun hits them, sort of like Marco's hair. But at least Marco talks back to him. Jean sort of wishes that he'd had a person like him when he was fourteen, trying to control his electric urges and talking to plants instead of people. But a sunflower's painful electric death is a lot less messy than a person's. 

Jean moves back over to his bed, falling back onto the sheets. So as to not wake his parents, Jean stifles his groan with a pillow and begs for sleep. What is wrong with him today? Sure he hasn't gotten a proper night's sleep in weeks, but this is another story. Maybe it's the mask's presence in his room, still stuffed in the pocket of his pants on the floor. Maybe he should just run it through the garbage disposal, just so he can get it out of his mind. He's agreed to this whole "team" thing too quickly. And now they have another "official meeting" together after school today. Maybe then he can tell them that he wants out of whatever this is that they've started. He's gotten a bit too close to them lately, after all. And now every fiber rejects the idea of preparing himself to use his powers again, even with a piece of cloth over his face.

But Eren seems to be fine with the fact that he's an Elect. He uses his abilities freely whenever they're around each other (though in the safety of their small group). He's fine with being in their tiny army. He almost seems more than okay with having his own personal bonfire around him sometimes, even if he's most likely almost burned down a few buildings by now. His new found obsession for Titans only makes the flames burn brighter, telling them all that he can finally use his abilities for a greater good and finally defy the Wall. The idea nearly makes Jean want to puke—but maybe just because it's coming from Eren. Marco is barely phased by Jean's powers anymore, whenever they're in enough seclusion for Jean to maybe use them for a second. It's only in Eren and Mikasa's basement of course, when he now knows for sure that no one could be watching. He's flown up to the ceiling to change a light bulb and lit it with only a touch of his finger without restraint, which felt strangely normal. Like he was instead just walking across the room instead of rising steadily towards the beams above them. Through tiny flashes of thoughts of nearly shooting him in the chest, Jean had accepted Marco's smile, and forced himself to pretend like he wasn't reeling.

Marco doesn't think Jean is a monster, still. Armin uses his powers pointedly and has the mindset of a military general. Eren seems proud to use such abilities for the chance of taking a titan down.

Then why is it that Jean just can't accept it? Why can't he just let himself fly everywhere he goes and change all the light bulbs he wants?

His mother knocks on the bedroom door and softly asks him why he's awake so early.

Oh, right. That's why.

 

In the middle of the day, just when the rain has started to let up and the first whispers of hunger start to come to mind, a voice comes over the intercom in Jean's math class. "Due to a code red situation, all students and staff are—" the voice doesn't have time to say much of anything else before the ground jerks and Jean is thrown from his desk to the ground, landing on his shoulder. He feels the pain in the same moment that he realizes what's about to come. There's another thud that shakes the glass in the windows, and this time someone in his classroom screams. Some of the kids rise shakily, then rush to the window in a mob. "Wait," Jean croaks. They must not realize that while they're leaning against the glass to get a good view, death is stomping steadily towards them.

"We're evacuating, kids. Go!" Jean's math teacher, previously reclining and nearly napping in front of them, has burst from his chair and talking so quickly it looks like his mustache might just fly clean off his face. Only a few of the kids actually follow at his first request. The rest, as the grey clouds swirl around the sky, watch in awe and horror as the Titan turns to look at them, as close as the edge of school grounds and close enough to see the wrinkles it's inhuman face. It has to tilt its massive head down to look inside their second story classroom, and Jean shuts down. Someone is crying next to him at the window, racking sobs that spread to a few around him. More of them start to run towards the yelling teacher and then past him into the hall. As Jean stares, the last time he'd looked into a face like this hits him like a brick, and the power flickers out. There's yelling coming from the classrooms next door. People are sprinting down the halls.

"Come on, Jean. Go!" Someone pulls on his shirt, anxiously tugging him away from the window, the titan watching the dim school building with its dead eyes, staring Jean down just like it had before. Jean barely remembers the mask in his pocket, but when he does, it's a dull blur compared to the thought that he is  _going to die_. The person who was telling him to run releases him before they run after the rest of the crowd as Jean now stands alone. He can't reach for the mask in his pocket. He couldn't if he tried. The same feeling as before starts to choke him, the one that came over him as he almost touched the stars that night, Marco only a spec below him. They would catch him. He doesn't know how he could even think to move. He can't move.

He can't.

The titan takes one massive step towards the school building, jerking him nearly to his knees, before Jean sees them. Three of them, all with hoodies pulled up over their heads, as the rain begins to fall again. Jean leans forward, pressing his hands to the glass to catch himself, fogging up the glass with how he's practically hyperventilating. Who the hell is that? What are they doing? "What are you _doing_?" Jean hisses through the glass. He can't move his feet. He can only pound once on the glass, feeling helpless, calling out to the three running figures sprinting across the sports fields. He wishes he could force his own feet to do the same. But instead the titan turns its gaze downward, its mouth opening and shutting slowly as it recognizes a three-person meal running straight to it. Jean shouts to them to get out of the way before it's too late, his voice cracking.

It's then when things start to get incomprehensibly crazy.

The first of the three, who Jean guesses is a girl from the way she bolts through the grass, picks up speed before her feet lift from the ground and she's running on air instead. Jean almost stops breathing. The tall one of the three figures' clothes begin to tear from his body as he grows, muscles growing and twisting as the flesh falls away to pure muscle and uneven proportions as he runs. The third thrusts his hands towards the ground and shards of rock burst toward the surface, creating a rocky flight of stairs for him to run up. Jean then sees what he's holding. A  _sword?_

And as if it isn't enough to get Jean's jaw to go slack and his blood to run cold, the three of them are running right towards the monstrous man-eating machine in front of them. The girl flies until she's seemingly inches away from the titan's face, and Jean tries to move again. He still can't do anything but stand in terrified awe, the pieces unable to come together. The titan widens his mouth, leaning forward towards her, while the boy pulling rock from the ground continues to run, his mountains of stone growing higher and higher as he reaches around the back of the titan. The girl, seconds from the titans jaw closing around her small frame, becomes rock herself, reflecting light from the summer rain as she plummets toward the ground, throwing the titan off as it snaps its mouth shut on empty air and falls forwards after her. The muscled creature (who must have been a normal-sized boy only thirty seconds before) stands, holding a sword dripping with blood and a titan's severed foot next to him. There's a massive crash that finally knocks Jean to the ground, his eyes still locked on the titan going to raise itself up again. The rock boy, nearing his final step, turns and with a cry that Jean can hear even across the field and through the window , jumps through the rain and falls, his sword raised. With one cut to the back of the giant's neck, blood spills and the titan falls back down with a final crash, mud splattering its bloody skin.

The three of them stand in front of the body as Jean listens to his own heavy breathing. "Get the hell out of here," Jean tells them, or maybe himself, but they react as if they may have heard him. They look to one another before they take off, faceless heroes racing towards the forests at the edge of school property. The girl, no longer made of reflecting rock, picks up speed again and flies, disappearing into the trees. The other two follow closely behind until it seems like Jean was staring at nothing in the first place but a giant rotting body. It's already starting to steam and disintegrate in the rain.

People are still screaming in the halls.

 

After an early release, as the police start to put up the caution tape, Jean avoids the clusters of people standing outside. Most look like a tiny breeze could blow them over, while others are using massive hand gestures to illustrate the last hours' events. Jean already knows how crazy today was; he was there, staring his own death in the eyes. He doesn't need to talk it over. But it's all people will talk about, until maybe the next one shows up to try to kill all of them again. Jean doesn't need to talk it over. He needs to get out of here.

When he tries to get through a large group of them, huddled in their little trauma-circle of protection, he feels someone try to brush past his shoulder. He shrugs it off, until a burning hand grips his forearm as soon as he escapes the crowd. At the last second Jean stops the pulse of electricity from escaping, but when he turns to see who's holding his arm tight, he knows he should've let himself shock this kid to the ground.

Eren doesn't even give him time to breathe.

"What the hell, man?" He shouts. He keeps his death-grip on Jeans arm as he drags him away from the people, who are now staring at Jean's outstretched arm as Eren tears him along. On the edge of campus, Eren finally lets go of his arm just so he can curl both burning hands into fists. "I thought we were a  _team_. I thought we were gonna try to take down any titans we could." Eren snarls every word, green eyes nearly glowing again. Jean feels all resolve fading, turning fully towards him so he can look at Eren down over his nose.

"Yeah? Where were you, then?"

"I was all the way in the basement, asshole. Mikasa was down there with me. We didn't get upstairs until it was already dead, everyone was blocking the damn exits." He shakes his head to himself, chastising himself right in front of Jean, as if the entire thing is his fault. "You were right there Kirschtein, you said you'd help." Their height difference apparently isn't enough to scare him off, so Jean squares his shoulders and hopes it's enough. But even when he's trying to feel big, he can't help but internally cower for a few moments. Eren is right, after all. He didn't move a muscle.

"There were other Elects who got to it before I did. No harm done. The titan's still dead." Jean bites his tongue at the end. Even if he'd been shown that there were even more like him, the realization hasn't exactly hit him yet. It was more of a guardian angel experience for him; he was looking into his own imminent death's eyes for a few moments, after all.

"You don't care about anything but yourself!" Eren shouts, and in that moment Jean tries to force himself to turn away. He can't. His cheeks flare and he nearly spits with every word.

"You wanted me to go out there and get myself killed? You've never been that close to one, Jaeger. You've never had it's meaty hands nearly grab you midair." Jean grabs Eren's shirt, shaking him. He tries to force the image into Eren's mind. "You wouldn't be able to move a muscle either, you hear me? As soon as you see it, you forget everything. You would've done the exact damn thing."

Burning holes into Jean's eyes, Eren nearly lights himself on fire (literally, though it probably wouldn't hurt him as much as Jean hopes) and Jean lets go of the clenched fabric in his fingers, turns, and walks away. His own childish anger is probably reflected behind him as Eren stomps away in the opposite direction. Jean huffs and whips his head around from where he'd began to look behind himself. Instead, he pushes the rising urge to rush back there and throw a punch back into his stomach.

Jean gets a block away from school, already sweating in the early summer heat from where the clouds have parted from the earlier rain. He's still practically vibrating with nervous energy so badly that he bumps into the only other person on the sidewalk, he nearly falls to the ground. Even when he gets a text, he barely realizes.

_Marco: Hey! Where are you?_

Jean looks up from the ground and around him, finding his eyes settling on some stained glass windows behind him. The three angels depicted in the crafted glass look down at him serenely as he moves his shaky fingers. He can't help but see something slightly familiar between the winged angels and the trio who saved his ass an hour ago.

_Jean: I don't know...by that big chapel on westside._

_Jean: did you see it?_

_Marco: Yeah, it was just as big and scary as the first time. I'm headed that way, can you meet me?_

_Jean: yeah. you're not gonna yell at me like Jaeger, are you_

_Marco: ?????_

Jean nearly wants to smash his phone on the ground. He can't believe he let Eren yell at him, made him feel even worse than he already does. He nearly let a titan step right into Sina High and make a gourmet meal of him and everyone around him. The mask still crumbled in his pocket was never even reached for. He feels so uncomfortable in his skin, under his clothes, under the sun. He almost _let innocent people die_.

He shouldn't feel so responsible. But Eren made him feel otherwise.

"Hey, lightning boy," says a voice behind him, just as the bells of the chapel have started to chime above him. He's forgotten how long he was sitting on the lawn of this place, just trying to forget the eyes. Jean turns and tries to bite back a grimace, squinting into the sun.

"Please don't call me that," he murmurs, and Marco, bag slung over one shoulder and looking especially non-traumatized, shrugs. Jean rises to his feet, unsaid thoughts bubbling to the surface after sitting in silence. "Did you see them kill it? Those Elects. Did you see it?" Jean's anxiety is obvious as soon as he starts to talk about it, trying to look past the glare on Marco's glasses and into his eyes.

"I saw most of it. One of the teachers caught me watching at the last minute and pulled me out of there before the titan fell. Where was Mikasa? Eren? You?" There it is. The accusation. Jean turns away groaning, wipes his hands over his face, and spins back around towards Marco, too worked up to care anymore.

"I was scared, okay? I was scared and all I saw was the last time we were that close to it and I'm a coward. I didn't wanna die. Nut if those Elects didn't get there I probably would've just let it kill me. And everyone else." Jean watches as Marco's jaw tightens, and then he blinks Jean's rampage away.

"Let's take a walk," he suggests, and Jean nods, hesitating to move. The bells of the chapel sing a sweet song above them.

 

Marco lets them walk in silence for a little while, letting Jean calm down as much as he can. "You don't need to feel bad for it," Marco tells him. "We sort of forced you into that group, even though you're really not ready for it." Jean glances at him, stony gaze softening when he sees how gently Marco is looking at him. He averts his eyes, unknowing of what to do for a moment.

But he doesn't have time to think it over before he's saying the first thing that comes to his mind. It's not what he wants to say, but what the hell was he going to say, anyway? He keep his eyes anywhere but the boy next to him. He's come to his conclusion. "I'm not a hero."

"I know you're not."

Jean hunches his shoulders forward, Marco's confirmation pulling him inward. Self-loathing isn't something new for him, that's sure as hell true, but it's coming in tidal waves at the moment.

"But hey, listen to me, Jean." Marco touches his shoulder, and Jean doesn't shock him, no matter how much he wants to. "You're not a hero. But I think that you might have to be." Jean doesn't shake out of his touch either. He means to pull out of his touch, retort back, shoot Marco's brain full of sparks. He wants to run away, maybe curl up in an alley and try to forget the eyes again. But he doesn't turn away. "You can't let the fear get to your head, okay? I don't want you to think too selflessly, because you have to stay safe. But Jean, if there's another titan, you've gotta know that there are people who are going to be counting on you."

"Because I definitely want people counting on  _me_."

"But there's also going to be those who you can count on." He lets him go, and then cracks a smile. "Like me." And then he keeps walking. It takes Jean a couple seconds to regain mobility. "Your hero instincts have already kicked in once, remember? I know this firsthand." Jean watches him walk in front of him, feels the shaking in his fingertips subside. Marco glances behind him to make sure Jean is following. "We've just gotta trigger them again," he jokes, and turns around again before he can see Jean's reaction.

 

The next one comes on the Friday of the pizza-redo-day (and it's postponed another week, much to Sasha and Connie's dismay). The titan is smaller than the others; storming through the outskirts of Sina, picking civilians off the streets as it goes. It's headed towards downtown, leaving a long, lacing path of destruction and death in its wake. Jean had called Eren's phone seconds after he'd felt the first tremor, and told him to hurry up and get in Mikasa's car or something, that he's gonna head over to it right now. He didn't give Eren a moment to answer before he began to act without thinking, going off of whatever instinct Marco was talking about.

Pushing away whatever might keep him from doing so, Jean pulls his dumb orange mask from his pocket for the first time. After putting it on with somewhat steady hands, he looks to both sides of him before pulling his hood up over his head and lifting from the sidewalk. With a final inner wave of courage, he flies faster than he knows he's able to keep up towards the distant screams that beckon him ever closer.

He gets a call midair, and Eren’s screaming in his ear about being too far away from the titan that's now heading down First Street and that Mikasa's already taken the car to her final yearbook club meeting or something. So Jean tells him to give him the damn street he's on so he can go get him, and Eren practically screams his answer as Jean swerves out of the way of a flagpole.

Now operating on auto-pilot and without thought of what might happen if he keeps flying this way, Jean weaves through the sky while trying to not imagine people coming out onto their lawns to look up at the boy sailing across the sky. When he reaches Jaeger sitting on the curb, already wearing his mask and a black jacket, Jean scoops him up with one arm and they wordlessly fly together, Jean struggling, until they reach the titan trampling something in the distance.

“Shit,” Eren murmurs under his breath, eyeing the destruction of an apartment complex now completely demolished. On the way over Jean had actually felt somewhat confident about the situation, but actually being here was another thing.

"What are we gonna do?" Jean asks, looking over at the titan's head moving above the houses, only streets away from them now.

“Mikasa’s already here— look.” Jean flies down to where Eren is pointing, more than ready to enter back into gravity. Leaning against her beat up car, hand above her eyes to block the sun, Mikasa simply watches the titan move between houses from behind her red mask. Without her scarf, Jean barely recognizes her at first. It's a part of the act, apparently. Jean lands ungracefully on the ground next to her, and Eren bolts from his grip as soon as his toes hit the ground. Bringing his eyes up to watch the titan's head above the rooftops across the street from them, he realizes how much smaller he is here down on the ground.

“I couldn't do very much,” Mikasa says, having not even turned to them. “But I did that.” She points to the rope tied from one street sign to the other—a tiny tripwire for a massive titan. The titan is coming still, reaching to pilfer through yards for any stray humans that might be sitting around. Thankfully, Jean doesn't see anyone but them right now. “Where's Armin?” she asks. Almost on cue, the screeching of bike wheels comes from behind them before coming to a scratching halt. Armin hops off, tossing the bike to the gound, blue mask pulled tight to his face, wearing a baseball hat low over his eyes instead of a hoodie. Jean rolls him eyes and then looks around to each of them—at their hoods and masks and  _wow_. They really need a better disguise.

Armin jogs over to them and joins them at looking at the titan, which disappears in the glare of the sun for a moment. "Who's got a plan?" he asks.

“Can't you just control it until it kills itself or something?” Jean asks Armin, twisting his wrist like Armin does, doing an impression of his concentrated face. Though through his mask he can't seem to get the eyebrows right. The blonde boy only stares. Even with his expressions hidden, Jean can see how fed up Armin already is with him.

“Doesn't work like that, Jean." Mikasa just shakes her head slightly. Armin nods to himself. "Okay, let's go." They take off running until they turn the corner of the street the titan is walking down. Armin stops ahead of them, glancing to make sure Jean is bringing up the back of the group. "Okay Jean, you're gonna gimme a boost onto the roof.” He points to the house nearest to them. Armin then aims his fingers towards a white picket fence in the yard next to them and tears a plank from the ground.

"What are you doing?" Eren asks.

"I'm gonna have to kill it somehow. We don't have swords like those Elects, so this'll have to do." He grips the pointed stake in his hand.

Jean looks up to the towering creature, and then to the small picket. "Are you sure that's gonna work?"

"It's something," Armin snaps. "Okay, Jean. Let's get up to that roof." Jean goes to reach for him, auto-pilot still directing his every movement, but Eren calls to them just before they take off.

“No, just leave it to me. I'll kill it,” Eren assures them, and Jean thinks he sees a smile behind those bared teeth. What does he think— that this is some sort of chance for him to show off? If this thing gets past them or kills them in the process, it hasn't got too far to go before it finds some people to snack on. So Jean rolls his eyes and turns back to put Eren in his place.

"Yeah, and get crushed in the process."

"I can kill it on my own!" Eren shouts.

Armin puts up a hand. "Just stay here, make sure—"

"Hell no!"

“Guys,” Mikasa says, and Jean turns. The titan has reached Mikasa's trap, and it trips right over it, the fucking thing. It crashes down a few feet from them, debris showering over them and nearly knocking them off their feet. Jean spits a piece of gravel from his mouth and surveys the titan not ten feet from where he's standing. They might have a clear shot at this point, if Armin poises that picket fast enough. Jean opens his mouth to suggest it, but it's then when the titan goes to brace itself against the road, fingers cracking the concrete when it steadies itself to stand. As they each take a few terrified steps back, it's then when they each hear it—sirens in the distance. But not only the usual wail of police sirens—the unmistakable sound of the Wall vans rumbling along the street as well. They pass through Jean's neighborhood in the night so often that he could hear it from a mile away. “Shit,” Jean hisses, and it's mirrored four times around him. The titan is rising, its eyes locking on them.

“Jean, go!” Armin cries, as the titan's fingers reach for them and they scatter. He doesn't need any more orders. He grabs Armin and tells him to hold on around his neck, as his arms are already too sore to try to hold anyone up again, and takes off towards the roof. Placing Armin next to him on the shingles, Jean immediately turns and shoots four electric bullets into the titan's side, getting it to turn from where its eyes were watching Eren and Mikasa trying to bolt into one of the neighboring yards. It turns slowly, almost like it's tired, the corpse eyes looking back. Jean feels weeks of nightmares coming back, just from its eyes. But a distant voice tells him to think about the people who live in these houses, to think about the fact that the Wall is getting close to them right now.

" _Shit._  Eren!" Mikasa shouts from a few houses down, and Jean sees why.

He's running back into the street, to where the titan had fell and there's a mess of broken concrete. Eren's fire snakes from his hands to around the monster's feet and Jean swears out loud, the titan turning away from him again. He feels the first wave of overusing his powers hit him, meanwhile Eren has now managed to get himself back into the very center of the street. His arms are spread on either side and a tower of flames erupts from his shoulders and to the titan's leg. It makes a strange, guttural noise as it takes one step towards Eren instead of back, which just fuels Jaeger on as he pummels it more. Jean hears Armin moving next to him, and when he turns, Armin finally makes the picket float from his hand, lining it up—and then shoots the pointed end towards the titan with a noise Jean didn't think could come from the small blonde's throat. It makes a gash in the titan's meaty flesh in the nape of its neck, but instead of falling to the ground it simply turns back to them and flails toward the roof, mouth widening. Jean reacts on impulse, rising from the roof and flying behind its head, the second wind of exhaustion starting to hit. There's a screech of tires on the pavement, and Jean can see out of the corner of his eyes as the police cars and Wall vans turn the corner. Whether they're here for the titan or for them doesn't matter, because within a few seconds the open fire begins.

Underneath him, Eren flinches as he hears the sound of guns, while Mikasa and her car are nowhere to be seen. He takes off running, and Jean's glad that he's actually using his brain finally. After hearing a scream, Jean takes off towards the rooftop Armin is still perched on, mouth agape and a massive piece of glass from the broken window behind him hovering above his hand. "Armin," Jean croaks, as he does the only things he can think of. He grabs Armin, his arms killing and his eyes beginning to go out of focus, and Armin screams at him midair while the titan's line of sight follows them. "Aim for the deepest part of the cut," He tells Armin, who's practically panting in his arms. Jean can tell that he's struggling, but Jean is already using the rest of his strength to keep them in the air. Armin poises the shard of glass, a bullet sailing past Jean's ear. "Preferably soon," he says, just as Armin shouts and throws the glass so fast that Jean doesn't even see it until it comes out the other side and buries itself in the ground, covered in blood.

It nearly lands on top of a police car after Jean stabs it past it's neck, and he's thankful for something to block the road as he and Armin collapse to the ground behind the body.

"Come on," Armin says, and Jean's head pounds as he scrambles to his feet. The shouting voices of the authorities echo over the rooftops and Jean nearly falls on his face from how exhausted he is. Following the back of Armin's head as a guide, he rushes into a backyard to their left, jumps a fence, and then is met by Eren and Mikasa with a finger over their lips on the other side. He's forced to blindly follow, the sound of smacking boots and shouting not too far behind them.

They bolt through as many side streets, trying to lose whoever is on their tail. As his vision starts to go back into focus, Mikasa has led them into the car scrapyard at the edge of town. They're crouched among the rusted hoods of discarded cars and each of them turn in a circle around themselves, looking for someplace to hide. "Armin, we need cover," Mikasa tells him, red mask smudged with dirt.

"Let's see if I can do that," Armin murmurs, almost too lightly for such a situation. He sticks out a hand and Jean watches as one of the car's empty shells moved slowly towards them, creaking into place and faced in a way so that they can watch the entrance for anyone who may have followed. Once again, Armin is breathing heavily as he slumps up against the side, head between his knees.

Mikasa crouches down, keeping her eyes locked on the horizon. "I parked the car a few blocks away. But they're probably watching for us right now." Jean tries to peek up over the hood with her, but she realizes after he's moved only an inch. "Keep your head down." 

Armin's small army waits for some sort of signal that it's safe to go, and they find it in the space between two houses down the hill where they can see a sliver of what's going on at the titan scene. From what they can see, the Wall and police officials are talking, a small cloud of steam wafting over them from the light breeze and the titans decaying flesh. Jean tries to squint and read their lips through one of the rusted car's windows, but it just makes his head hurt even worse. While some of them are putting up caution tape and talking pointedly to approaching civilians, some of the other officers are in a small huddle close to the titan's head. The Wall official vests are bright against the fading sunlight, so it's easy for Jean to try to keep an eye on them before Mikasa tells him to get down again. One of the sheriffs even try to lean against the titan while they talk, only to jerk back after realizing how burning hot the rotting body is. Jean snorts a laugh while ducking back down behind the rusted car, covering his mouth. He watches as a team of them write things down, take a sample in a glass tube from the titan's leg, and most of them are gone.

“They know much more than we think they do,” Eren says, watching out the same window as Jean as most of the Wall vans drives away. “Lets follow them.”

“Yes, and end our lives. Great idea.”

Jean rips off his mask, rubbing his hands over his sweaty skin. Wearing hoodies in the summer, even when it's to protect his life, is a mistake. He tries to feel for the electricity in his wrists and finds it still just as weak as before. He tilts his head back against the metal and starts to close his eyes. He can wait out the Wall—they can wait all night if they have to. It's just as Armin starts to peel his mask from his face that Jean's phone buzzes. Eyes still closed, Jean lifts it to his ear and pathetically mutters a hello.

“Hello my hero! Did you hear?” Marco's voice chirps on the other end. "There's no footage yet, but hey! There was another on the edge of town. Any idea who killed it?"

Jean feels his next breath stick in his throat. So that's what he forgot. "Um, Armin did." His answer hangs in empty space for a few moments. Marco silence is so unnerving that Jean has to check his phone once to make sure that he' still there. Finally his voice returns, wispier than before. 

"Where's everyone else?"

"They're here too."

"Oh." It's a different tone, and Jean feels his heartbeat kick up again. He can almost see Marco standing in the middle of his room, fingers nervously running over his scar once or twice. It makes Jean bite his lip and try to find an excuse that he could at least humor him with.

"There wasn't any time, I'm sorry, man. I would've gotten you—I would've rushed over to get you, it was just so close and you live so far and—"

"Jean, it's fine. You guys killed it. I couldn't have done much anyway." Jean pushes a hand to his temple. 

"You're more of a part of this than I am. You should've been here, I'm so _dumb_."

"Well, there's a meeting at the Jaegers' tomorrow. Tell me about it then?"

"Yeah, of course." Jean says. And then Marco hangs up without a goodbye. Jean leaves his hand pressed between his eyes, the phone still at his ear.

"What would he have done, anyway?" Eren asks bitterly. Jean's too tired to retort.

"Hey, he's one of us, Eren." Armin answers. Things stay quiet after that. When dusk starts to spread over the sky, they get up off their sorry asses and leave to find Mikasa's car. The crowd down at the titan is at its biggest by now, and there's no way the police are looking towards four kids among the shadows. Jean sees the flash of cameras around the titan's bones, and shakes his head while he walks. They're only so eager to go towards it once it's dead.

 

Even only a cutting board away, conversation with Marco could be difficult at times—with a teacher who probably wouldn't hesitate to throw a knife if he caught them talking, and especially now that moral-support Marco Bodt was left out of the action yesterday.

But it's still him who starts the conversation. “So how was—"

“Bodt!” their teacher growls. Jean can't blame him; every teachers' patience is running thin by now. All anyone ever does now is talk about the titans, and schoolwork has been so below subpar that they're all at the end of their rope. But with graduation so soon, Jean has yet to care.

“My apologies,” Marco smiles back to him, but then it happens again a minute later and the teacher looks at Marco like he's ready to snap his neck. Finally, when he's left the room, Jean turns to him.

“Do you wanna ditch tomorrow?”

Marco actually smiles, leaning back from him. Jean was afraid he'd be treated with a cold shoulder after yesterday, but he doesn't _seem_ that angry, at least. “And do what?” Marco asks him. Jean bites his upper lip, trying to not flat out say 'to talk about the titan we killed' in a room full of average people.

“Um, I don't know? We could go to my place. Study?”

“We’re gonna ditch school to do schoolwork? I love it.”

Jean wants to punch him right in his scarred jaw, no matter how terrible that might be.

"Okay, I take back my invitation."

"I'll be there."

 

Connie appears next to him after school that day, after Marco had just left his locker and Jean thought that his human interaction for the day was finished.

"Jean, hey. You free for a biology study sesh tomorrow?" Connie's Sina High Jacket is still pulled around him, even in the heat. Final exams aren't for another week, yet here's

Connie pleading for his help already. Same thing happened last year, and he's lucky Jean saved his ass.

But now Jean clears his throat. "I'm not gonna be here tomorrow, actually. I'm...sick."

"You're ditching tomorrow, of all days?" Connie whisper-shouts, looking mock-disgusted with Jean's neutral expression.

"Yeah, me and Marco are just gonna hang out instead."

Connie's expression changes to something he can't recognize. Jean raises an eyebrow. "What."

"So are you guys...like..." He raises one hand to make an O and points a finger and Jean immediately slaps his hands, possibly shocking him a little.

"What the fuck, Connie, no."

"But you want to be,"

"Holy shit, no. I'm not—he's not—" But he's slightly tongue tied. In his mind's eye, they're back at their small picnic, then on the roof, and then Marco is smiling softly to him across their table at Sock Hop. Freckles all the way to the tip of his nose, glasses always slightly falling down the bridge of it. Tiny butterflies start to flutter into Jean's stomach.

In Connie's smirking expression, Jean gets a grip on himself. Holy _shit_ , no. Slight butterflies does not equal wanting to be _that_ with his new and best friend. In fact, he doesn't even know if Marco is into that, much less into someone like  _him_. Jean quite literally shakes away the thought. But he still has to force himself to look back to Connie's smug face. "Fucking stop it, okay? Just don't."

Connie only revels in Jean's blushing for a couple seconds before turning up his nose. " _Fine._ Now, I'm gonna go see if Sasha has any biology notes I can steal. You know, 'cause she's a _good friend_." Jean simply rolls his eyes. He now realizes that even if he didn't have tomorrow with Marco, he probably would have made something up anyway.

 

“Big titan research tomorrow, honey,” Jean's mother says that night, after Jean had asked her what sort of _exciting new things_ had been happening at work lately. It's a ploy to get her to spill some of the confidential things that no one but the Wall is supposed to know, but now it's also a tactic to see how late she'll be out tomorrow. If she comes home for lunch, he might have to drop the idea altogether. But if all goes well, he might just piss her off slightly enough to get her to stay out until midnight. So Jean's sarcastic tone of voice is carefully placed, and just as he thought it makes her turn back to him instead of walking off to her office. "This is bigger than you think, Jean. This isn't some monster movie like you kids are so into. This is Sina, Maria, and Rose's future we're talking about." She turns away from him, and Jean huffs. He can play her like a violin, all he needs to do is wait for her to turn back around. It only takes a couple seconds. "And I'll have you know that your father has new blood samples from those Elects that he's been testing. His division is going to see what mutations they possibly have that links them to those wretched titans.” She says it with a stiff upper lip, and Jean pilfers through the cabinets, trying to hide his stricken face.

“Elects are the same as titans?” He asks. Casually—so casually.

“They're both monsters. They're both putting humanity at risk. Those titans may be appearing here for now, but they could spread, especially with the help of those Elects. Jean, you know what those Elects are capable of."

“Oh, I know, mom.” He looks up from where he'd been staring at boxes of cereal. "But didn't they kill those titans?"

"Jean," she says, warning in her voice. "Don't think for one second that being one of them is good for us."

“I won't." Jean says, steadily. Like Jean has done so many times himself, she raises her chin and continues on her way to her office, the door starting to close before he lets himself stop holding his breath. 

"Tomorrow's going to be a late night at the Wall—order in for dinner if you'd like," she tells him.

Jean doesn't respond, as he sucks in his first breath in what feels like years and keeps his eyes glued on a cereal box. He clenches his jaw, the energy to even stand up too much for him. He feels weaker than he did when he first let himself lift off the ground and kill that titan.

He feels weaker than the first time he ever realized that he'll always be his parents' enemy, after all.

 

A day later, in the Kirschtein kitchen, Jean rushes to the fridge, mostly just to feel the cool air on his face. Marco joins him, and they wait, the sweat drying on their foreheads as they breathe a sigh of relief. It's basically the hottest day of the year; how could they possibly sit in a sweaty classroom all day? Jean opens his eyes to the light of the fridge and spots a twelve pack of beer tucked in the back.

”Want one?” He asks Marco, deciding that he might as well take this teenage rebellion thing as far as it can go. Then again, it's another thing his parents don’t seem to give a shit about, if they've even bothered to notice.

Jean pops off the cap and catches it in mid-air as Marco’s smile falls to a grimace.

”No, I don't.” He goes over to the other side of the counter, picking an apple from the bowl in the middle and rubbing it across his shirt. “You failed to mention that about yourself before.”

”Didn’t think you cared,” Jean says warily, watching Marco from the corner of his eye. He takes a swig in front of him, feeling his electricity flare up when he swallows. The influx of sparks is the downside to his occasional drink—it’s why he only dares to do this when he knows he’ll be able to control the waves of electric currents that seem to follow every time he does. Jean's fingertips usually even hum with voltage afterwards.

Marco eats his apple in silence, and then they head to Jean's room. Marco cracks a joke about the clothes on the floor and things are light again, but Jean makes sure to leave his bottle of beer next to the bed instead of drinking while they work. Which they actually do, no matter how pathetic that is. Jean finishes his math homework before Marco even mentions yesterday, which Jean had previously been dreading a conversation about. But with him sprawled out in his shorts and mussed hair, Jean's almost glad to retell the story in the excruciating detail that Marco requires.

 

It's nearly midnight when Jean leaves a voicemail on both his parent's cellphones telling them that Marco is staying the night. He might as well, seeing as they've been talking for over half the day and there's no sign of them stopping any time soon. After hours of being sprawled out on Jean's bed sheets or lying on the floor, Jean finally stands up from the bed while Marco folds a paper airplane. “Do you wanna go on the roof?” He asks. Marco looks up from his work and puts down the tiny paper plane.

“Hell yeah I do,” he answers, grinning. Jean opens the window, the rusted squeak making him want to cover his ears as he pushes it all the way. He then lifts off his feet and through the window, floating up towards the roof above. “Um, how do you want me to get up there?” Marco questions from below him. Jean peeks his head back in through the window.

“Oh, here,” he says, reaching a hand in. Marco climbs onto the sill and reaches for Jean's hand, shuffling through and then nearly screaming when he almost falls two stories below them. But Jean catches him, and it's a softer embrace than their last when they were both so near to death.  Now he just pulls and then grips Marco's middle as he floats up to the roof.

“I'm gonna get so ripped if I keep having to carry you places,” Jean says. a breeze hitting his side as he lightly places Marco onto the rooftop. If only he had been this kind to Armin yesterday; he probably is getting bruises right about now. Marco chuckles under his breath, going to sit with his legs hanging off the edge.

“Do you come up here often?” Marco asks. Jean makes a noise of affirmation, lying back with his hands behind his head.

“The stars aren't nearly as nice over there than in Trost park, though” Marco insists.

“It's the pollution,” Jean answers, letting his eyes close. “We’re in the Wall district. The air is filthy,” Jean says, when in reality he's just picky.

“It's thick with their secrets,” Marco tries to imitate Eren, and Jean barks with laughter. They giggle about it for a while, until Jean just angrily whispers _titans_ and they lose it. When they've settled back into comfortable silence, Jean lets the corners of his mouth tip up as he opens his eyes to the stars.

“I like it when the air is clear,” Jean says. “Up there.” He points slightly above them. Marco breathes a laugh.

“You'll have to take me some time." He lies down on his back as well, still keeping his legs over the edge. There's a slightly sleepy edge to Marco's voice, and Jean realizes that his eyes are more heavy than they've been in weeks. He doesn't try to fight it too hard, as he looks up at the sky. He'll be able to stay up just fine. Marco is one of the few people worth staying up for.

“I didn't actually think you were really into plants,” Marco says behind a smile, rolling over so he's facing away from how Jean sits up to draw his knees up to his chest.

“Sorry to fuckin' disappoint,” he says, his cheeks starting to burn. He shouldn't feel like it's the end of the world that Marco thinks his plants are lame, but it does. 

“You know I didn't mean it like that,” Marco answers softly, and Jean's eyes flick over. “It's interesting. I wish i could see the beauty in it.” Jean stares straight ahead, feeling his eyes flutter closed for a moment. There is beauty in it, in the way that Jean's able to make things grow. In how the direction the bloom is always towards the sun. And Marco doesn't get it, but he does. Jean's stomach turns, and he tries to fight it.

“I wish I could see your attraction to cooking,” he muses instead. Their laughs have become slightly bitter, and Marco's single bark of laughter is too obvious.

“Cooking's fine,” Marco says. “But I kind of want to be a writer.” Jean turns to look at him, just to watch his slight silhouette breathing. “I mean, you get to have these abilities Jean, you and Armin and _everyone_ , it seems. But the closest I can do is write about it,” he says. 

“You're gonna write about us?” Jean asks. Marco shrugs, and he's lucky Jean's watching him. “I'd like to read that,” Jean grumbles. 

Marco clears his throat. “But who knows. I'll probably end up working for my dad until I can take over Sock Hop myself.” Jean nods. He knows the feeling. "What do you wanna do?"

"Um, I dunno, maybe work for the—"

"Don't you dare say the Wall, Jean."

"I was gonna say work for the nature department, asshole. You know, like a park ranger." He pulls his knees even closer to him. "Jeez, I had no idea you had such low expectations for me."

"Oh." For a second, Marco sounds  _embarrassed_. Jean still can't seem to stop watching him. "And I don't have low expectations for you, actually. I was just afraid you might have low expectations for yourself." Jean sits for a moment, taking Marco's sleepy words in. It hits him softly at first, then like he's been punched. Jean slowly lays back down, stomach in absolute knots. Marco seems just fine with the silence that follows, but Jean is tormented. The sky is a blinking reminder of who is lying next to him, of whose eyes shine just like the those tiny dots up there.

"Do you dream about them? The titans?" Jean asks. Just a question to make sure Marco's awake, and to make sure he isn't actually dreaming.

"Yeah," Marco replies. Jean doesn't know how to follow up. They sit in silence for a long time until Jean can croak something else out.

"Our lives are pretty messed up right now." Jean admits it to himself, and it hangs in the air between them.

"And they expect us to keep up grades for the rest of the school year," Marco deadpans. They both laugh, and then the silence returns. Actual crickets sing in the distance. Jean rolls over to his side, expecting to see Marco's back so that maybe he can even watch him breathe for a while if they're done talking. But instead he nearly rolls his mouth right onto Marco's face. Thankfully his eyes are closed, and he probably hasn't noticed, so Jean shimmies himself back a couple inches, his heart hammering like he's staring into the mouth of a titan itself. Jean swallows, and Marco scrunches up his brow even with his eyes closed. "A park ranger, huh."

"Just me and the forest," Jean answers. He decides that the only way to stop his pounding heart is to just close his damn eyes.

"And all the flying room you want," Marco whispers. Even with the industrial sounds of the neighborhood humming around them, the edge of his roof with Marco is better than any spot Jean's ever had in the trees. 

 

The titan at the school was enough to keep everyone on edge for the week after. And now it's still all anyone talks about— the kids who braved the titan's presence are celebrities, and crude footage of the figures who took it down is everywhere. Jean is exhausted. Not even Marco's enthusiasm can make him feel better at this point. He's getting snappier and ruder by the second, and the bags under his eyes have started to turn permanent. He even forgot to water his plants yesterday. He's hit a new low.

Graduation is in two weeks. He barely realized it before, but it's what everyone _should_ be talking about at this point. Jean's parents will be sitting in folding metal chairs, Marco will be waiting for him to fly across the stage while receiving his diploma, and Jean will be sent off to college (to most likely become a Wall member and ruin the rest of his life). All in a matter of weeks.

After school that day, the clouds are low the sky again and humidity clings to Jean's skin. His phone buzzes, and Jean flinches. He wonders if jumpiness is a side-effect of being overworked and mostly sleep deprived. Glancing down at the screen, Jean sighs before raising the phone to his ear.

"Yeah, Sasha?"

“Jean!” She cries, a chorus of voices around her afterwards. He hears her back away from the phone to yell 'I'm talking to Jean, shut up already' before she comes back on with a nervous edge to her voice. “I have about 15 seconds to explain all this so please, don't try to interrupt me.” In the background now there's the sound of something smashing hard against the ground, followed by  Sasha's quick breath as she moves the phone to a better place.

“Wait, Sasha? What's going on?”

“Shut up! 15 seconds!" Jean bites his tongue and forces himself to wait. "Okay, Connie and I are Elects. Wow, yeah, I know. But there is a titan over here by the lake and it's not just stumbling around. It's abnormal. It's running Jean—it's running and it looks... _smart_. We're gonna need backup. Can you get here?”

Jean blinks. "You're an Elect? Connie's an... _what?_ "

"Please don't tell me that's all you heard, Jean. Come on, can you be here?"

“Wait, who's there with you?”

“Mikasa and Eren aren't with us,” she answers. "But they're on their way. We're following it in Connie's car."

"Marco's there?"

"Yeah, we ran into him a little earlier with Armin and had this weird heart to heart thing. We were about to call you but—look, it's gonna hit downtown in a few minutes if you don't haul ass over here and help, you hear me?"

“Yeah, I'll be there.” Jean looks around him, checking the empty sidewalks. "I still can't believe you're one of us," he mutters as he reaches in his pocket to pull out the orange fabric.

"Birds of a feather flock together, right?" Sasha says, sounding preoccupied with the loud crashes that come from the phone that he thinks he might be able to hear in the distance. Jean laughs under his breath and then pulls on his mask with one hand, giving up any hope of being indiscreet and already starting to take off.

"Where is it, again?" he asks. Then he hears it. Both quietly in the phone and very loudly around him.

"Um, we're on its tail, it heading towards—" The steady thumping suddenly breaks way into smashing, and Jean can _really_ hear it outside of the phone now, before the building next to him topples to the ground and his phone flies from his fingers.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's nearly 1 in the morning and I have classes tomorrow, so I'm just gonna casually come back to this chapter tomorrow and try to fix whatever lame spelling errors I made later, okay?? y eah  
> I told myself that a chapter of this fic every week was doable, but I'm not so sure anymore. Since I'm on break I might be able to get more than I might usually get done, but maybe once a week is too much for me??? We'll see a h  
> Obviously this chapter was delayed due to finals and stress and me all around being miserable so th an k you if you decided to bear with me. Hopefully there won't be another massive hiatus like this one again.  
> Okay! Maybe tell me what you're thinking so far in the comments if you'd l ike, or message me at jacklalonde.tumblr.com! Big things are coming people....this fic has only just begun..


	4. Drowning on Dry Land

Jean feels concrete collide with his skin before he remembers to fly, his arm taking most of the weight of the fall and his eyes struggling to stay open, watching as the titan stands among the toppling ruins. By some act of fate, Jean sees his phone next to him, covered in dust and screen cracked down the middle. Finding himself, Jean reaches for it and stretches out the pain radiating from his arm, trying not to hiss through his teeth.

And then Jean sees more wreckage falling his way and flies, a brick landing in the place he had been seconds before. Gripping his arm and brushing debris off his clothes, Jean bolts upwards, the remnants of the building below him clattering to the ground. Something brushes his torso from behind just as he thinks he's made it high enough, but whipping around with a gasp, Jean dodges the titan's teeth by swerving mere centimeters, a stream of curses falling from his mouth. Oh god, it's so _close_ , its wild hair flying all directions, sunken eyes boring deep as Jean turns and flies desperately down another street.

The titan is definitely chasing him now, arms flying and knocking siding off of houses with every corner they turn. Through the desperation, Jean remembers the phone call he just had and looks behind himself, flying higher than the titans head but barely higher than its reaching arms. There, he sees them now, in a tiny blue car sailing down the street a good ways behind him. There's the rest of his friends, steadily moving behind the path of destruction Jean is causing.

He's bolting this way and that, trying to avoid any tall buildings that the titan would easily just smash through, looking for any sort of escape route. Jean scans the distance and sees a forest far off to his right, and decides to at least try to lure it away from people. Jean's tired already, wind pressing to his face and arms glued to his side, his mask hugging his face.

The sudden thought hits him before he realizes; someone is about to land in his arms. Jean lowers his hands on instinct, and suddenly there's a weight between them, and he's hugging someone as he flies. Startled, Jean swerves to the side, and Sasha shouts at him from in his arms.

"Teleportation," she cries, looking up at him with a wink. _And a little bit of mind control_. The intruding thought in his mind was definitely not his own.

"Now, throw me at it." Sasha shouts. Jean just stares at her, and then another foreign thought appears in his mind. _I have a sword_. _Now throw me, and be there to catch me once I kill it, okay?_  Jean's mouth widens but he can't seem to answer, before Sasha screams "NOW!" and Jean turns, no longer bothering to look where he's flying, and heaves her towards the titan making a leap towards their height in the sky. Sasha poises the blade in her hands, the titan turning it's head away for a moment, and Jean flies down and through the titans legs so he can catch Sasha on the other side. He hears the sword hack, sees Sasha screaming as she flies through the air towards him, and rushes to catch her in his arms. Her arm hits his face and his nose is burning so badly his eyes water, but Jean dodges another swipe of the titan's arm as he takes off back towards the trees.

"Didn't work," Sasha yells from his arms.

"What now?"

"I have no idea." And the dread settles in again as the running titan takes off towards them even faster as they reach the forest. And then Jean sees it—a tiny blue car swerving like mad across the road again, coming to a stop where the treeline begins. Jean watches them start to pile out as he weaves through the first couple trees, the abnormal titan behind him slamming and breaking branches as it follows.

Finally, Jean can see stars in the corners of his vision, and Sasha is yelling at him, and he catches his shoulder on a branch. Sina River is just ahead of him, moving softly, grass on the banks blowing unassumingly in the breeze. And Jean reaches it, starting to apologize to Sasha as his ears ring and blacking out just as they hit the water.

 

When he comes to, Sasha is holding his head above the current and the summer air has turned into wintry ice.

"Shit, it's cold," Jean says, gasping once as Sasha holds him upright. He can barely think, his head is pounding, and there's a titan breaking through the last of the bushes until it reaches the lake. Jean tenses, realizing it'll pick them off with and then go back into Sina to finish the job. It pauses where it is, almost too still, like it's waiting, and Jean shivers in the freezing water.

And then there's the noise like a humming, a scratching that Jean can hear traveling up to the trees above him, and Jean only sees Connie's figure for a moment before there's the slice of a knife, the titan's head whipping back,and then Jean sees someone standing on the nape of it's neck as it falls. Connie screams as he falls with it, the splash from its impact traveling all the way over to Jean and Sasha as it lays lifeless in the river, head smashed on the other side of the bank.

"Oh, man." Sasha says, simply watching.

Jean realizes it all at once. "Sasha—you're...you just _appeared_ out of nowhere."

"Teleportation, remember? Come on, let's get out of here." She reaches for Jean's hand underneath the water and there's a flash of white light before Jean collapses to the ground. The weightlessness of floating in the river is gone and his legs buckle beneath him on dry land. Jean struggles for breath, the girl next to him dripping water onto the grass and holding a secret that Jean is only now beginning to process. "Jeez, you're wearing me out too, Kirschtein. I never transport two people at once." Sasha now sits across from him, wet hair falling between her eyes, breathing heavily.

"I can't believe you're one of us."

"And I can't believe I just flew." She actually laughs, and Jean can't take her look of giddiness, flopping onto his back to look up at the trees. He cannot believe that it's come to this. Killing titans. Finding out he and his friends are setting themselves up to be killed. He almost wants to laugh with her.

"Hello," says a sing-song voice above him just as he's started to calm, and when Jean opens his eyes Connie is smiling down at him. 

"Super-speed or something, Connie?" Jean asks. That's the only option he could come up with—climbing trees and flying through the air in a couple of blinks.

"Something like that."

Jean shakes his head to himself, _Connie_ of all people standing in front of him. "One of the few people I could've sworn was normal."

"I'm a great actor." Connie smiles almost fondly down at Jean gasping on the ground before he realizes who's sitting next to him. "I just killed it though, did you see it? I could've died, but I killed it, man." Jean watches Connie's hands move to grip onto grip Sasha's shoulders, only the tiniest bit delirious. "I did it! They told me I could help take down a titan and I did! Did you see how scary that thing was!?" Jean watches their reunion, thinking that it's strange that you can go from casual hangouts with seemingly strangers to throwing them towards their apparent death. A sword is laying next to Connie while he and Sasha embrace, and Jean leans himself up on his elbows to look at it. The last of the steam from the titan's blood drifts into the air, and Jean falls back again to look up, exhausted. He has no idea how Connie got that thing, but he does know that the trio that killed the one at school had one too. Sure would be nice if he got one for himself. Maybe then he wouldn't be so fucking tired.

Someone shouts to them in the distance, and Jean finds the strength to sit up again in the grass. Eren waves towards them and shouts again, echoing all the way across the river.

Connie stands. "The Wall is probably on their way."

"Let's get back to the car," Sasha says, and while Jean is sitting up she and Connie seemingly disappear. Jean looks across the babbling river, and there they are, standing next to Eren. The two of them, always a step ahead. He guesses it makes a little bit of sense now, how they're both so in sync. 

Jean finds the strength to pathetically fly over, only to fall again and have Armin help him walk back to the car. His electricity is smoked, with how drenched he is. It probably won't come back for another couple hours. And he's cold, too. He and Sasha shiver to the bone with each gust of wind that blows through the trees.

Mikasa and Armin lead them on, and Jean has yet to see Marco in the distance. His questions are answered when they reach the car, Jean's shoved inside, and it's Marco that steps on the gas. Sirens blare a short distance away.

Marco barks orders as soon as everyone's inside, a waver of panic underneath. "Okay, we're going to Sock Hop. Get those masks off of you. And Connie and Sasha, hide your swords back there."

"Where did you even get those?" Jean asks Sasha.

It's Connie who replies. "My dad collects them. Weirdo."

Marco continuously looks in the mirror towards them while beginning to drive, voice still unsteady. "I've been listening to the radio—the Wall is gonna be looking for people like us. Er—you." Jean watches him, while pressed between Sasha and Armin, Eren in the front seat and Connie and Mikasa in the back. "Everyone's okay?" Marco asks afterwards, as Jean peels the wet mask off his face.

"Yeah," he answers along with everyone else.

"No you're not—you and Sasha have scratches everywhere. " Armin answers. 

"The branches," Sasha says, looking genuinely annoyed. Jean turns to her, pink scrapes covering her bare shoulders, and Jean looks down to his arms to see the same. His nose and arm still throb too, but he'll deal with it all later. 

But Armin seems to be set on getting them covered up. "Mikasa, give me your jacket. Eren, you too." The two of them shuck off their coats as the car makes its way back into civilization, and into traffic. Jean accepts the jacket, sniffles once, and raises his eyes to watch Marco's in the rear view mirror. They flicker to his soon enough. He does smile, a tiny raise of lips, but Jean's own only twitch before they fall again. Marco settles back on the traffic, and Jean watches Sasha anxiously play with the ring on her finger.

They're quiet when there aren't Wall patrols everywhere, and they're silent when there are. A Wall officer, signature black helmet covering his features, looks slightly into their car, and Jean pretends to be very fascinated with his fingernails. The bright fluorescent vests are starting to be replaced with darker ones among the higher-ranking Wall officers (Jean's parents had bickered over it a few days on opposing sides of the argument) and Jean is almost afraid to look to see what kind of officer is looking at them while they go through.

They pass through it all soon enough with a collected sigh, then go through the lit-up streets of downtown, people now grouped in clumps to watch the screens of live footage being played from Sina River. Now, the letters are bold and clear across the screen. ELECTS TAKE DOWN STRANGE TITAN. Looks like the Wall is done kidding itself, done calling it all "unexplainable". Jean swallows, the other passengers around him letting their eyes watch the massive projection. The reporter's words aren't clear through the car, but the look in his eyes is. They are not safe. Jean is not safe. Not that he ever was.

 

Jean walks into Bodt's Sock Hop for the first time while it's truly open, the others following closely behind. The jukebox is on, blaring some cheesy fifties song so loudly that it makes Jean want to keel over and die. Waitresses in skates whiz past him as he closely trails Armin's back, weaving through tables to the largest booth in the corner of the room. Jean looks disdainfully at the couple sitting at their usual booth, holding hands across the table with milkshake straws in their mouths.

At least the back corner of the place is deserted. They're next to the kitchen doors, so when Ymir skates by and makes slight eye contact with Jean, she spins towards him, the tray in her hand staying perfectly still as she presses her other palm to the table and leans towards him.

"My god, Jean Kirschtein, what have you been up to?" Her eyes move like she's trying to search as far into him as she can, and Jean forcibly thinks _don't you fucking dare_ before she leans away, straightening her back.

"Well, that's something. I'll be back to get your guys' order soon," she sneers, before skating down to another booth across the room. Jean lays his head down on the table.

"What's her deal?" Connie asks.

Armin leans over and whispers in his ear, and Connie's eyes widen.

"Damn. Never thought I'd see one in real life." Ymir looks over from her table with a grimace aimed directly for where Connie is watching. He falls back into his seat.

"What am I missing?" Sasha asks, and finally Marco says it softly.

"She's a reader."

Sasha pulls back. "Another Elect? Damn, does your dad know that?"

"Yeah, he's fine with it. He's—" The kitchen door opens again, and a man with broad shoulders walks out, a head of salt-and-pepper hair cropped short and freckles dusting a familiar face. "Hi, Dad." Marco says it with a look that screams _speak of the devil_ towards the rest of them. The man turns, surprise turning to a beaming smile that nearly matches Marco's own.

"Hey, kiddo. And hey, you've brought friends!" He looks to each of them, and when he reaches the boy with damp hair and nervous amber eyes, Jean tries to give a friendly wave. He remembers what Marco had said about his dad hiring Elects, being able to tell when they had something to hide. Now he looks at the group of them a little strangely, smile still friendly but eyes questioning. Forcing himself to look normal, Jean looks down at Mr. Bodt's worn t-shirt and shorts that don't exactly reflect that of the owner of a restaurant would wear, but from the eccentric theme of the building he's in, Jean can understand it.

"I think I can handle this table on my own, Mr. Bodt," Ymir says sweetly, coming up to prop an elbow on Marco's father's shoulder. He gives a hearty laugh, and Jean can't help but smile softly along with him; a talent that must've been passed down to his son.

"I'm sure you can, Ymir. Nice meeting you all, Marco's friends. Marco, don't forget that it's your turn to cook tonight."

"Yeah, Dad." Marco says, cheeks flushing slightly, and Marco's father laughs again before moving past them. The table aw's and croons over it, while Marco looks over at Jean to roll his eyes, Jean's nose burning when he scrunches it in mock-disgust.

"Okay, little heroes, what can I get for you?" Ymir already starts writing before they say anything, but they go around the table anyway. Jean is surprisingly starving, so when Sasha and Connie settle for sharing a plate of fries, Jean orders the same. Once the orders are down, Ymir presses both hands to the table now, panning her cat-like eyes around the table.

"So it was you guys," she says.

"Keep your voice down," Mikasa warns. Ymir looks pointedly at her, eyes searching again.

"Okay, so it wasn't _all_ of you guys." Jean watches as Mikasa's gaze doesn't even waver. Ymir continues after slight hesitation.

"That thing is sitting dead in Sina River because of you guys. The Wall is gonna be on your tails after this one. You know like sixty people died today while that thing chased you guys?"

"We know, Ymir." Armin answers.

"Do you wanna be on our team with us?" Eren asks exasperatedly, like he couldn't hold it in any longer, and Jean feels his electricity come back for the first time since he hit the water. They all turn to face him.

"It's not something we can just invite people into, Jaeger," Jean hisses. He catches Ymir staring, flashing something behind her eyes once he looks back, and Jean tries his best to keep a wall up in his mind as far as he can. She smiles after a few moments of silence, Connie's swallow audible next to him.

"I'd love to join. There's not much out there for an Elect to be in, these days. Who the hell knows where the Extra Corps are right about now?" Now the table collectively pulls back, and Ymir pockets her small pen in her pocket. "You'll want Christa, too. She's the best healer I've ever known, and the only one. You'll need her, Especially if you're going to scratch yourself up while dodging trees," she says, with a wink in Jean's direction before she skates into the kitchen.

"Aren't you glad I asked?" Eren says, and Jean wishes he had Eren's power over fire. He wouldn't hesitate to burn his ass to the ground right about now. "I got us two new members."

Sasha taps her fingertips on the table. "Maybe it'll be good to have more people. You know? More forces."

"We're putting ourselves in more danger," Mikasa says plainly.

They all sit for a moment, probably all collectively going over how immensely fucked up their current situation is. Even as they eat, Jean is chilled to the bone, adding a couple more names to the list of people he's setting up to die. He goes into his own spiral of thoughts, on the very edge, and when Sasha laughs about something with Marco across the table, Jean nearly jumps out of his skin. 

 

He does the same a week later, pencil nearly flying from his fingers. Not wearing headphones during their group studies is completely uncommon for him, and it's got Jean uncomfortable again. Without his music, he can't stop the thoughts as easily. And he can hear what people around him are saying—always the same thing. Titans, whose funeral they're invited to this weekend. Without his music, it's driving Jean insane.

“Have you seen the papers?” Connie asks from the table behind him during Biology. Jean catches his pencil just in time. 

“What, our school paper?”

“Yeah. It's got a huge story on that titan yesterday," Connie's lab partner says daringly, a boy who Jean can't remember the name of. "It's pretty cool.” The nameless lab partner high fives Connie next to him and Jean tries to smile. Jean may have a select few people in which he spends time with, but the majority of people at school are still threats, always have been. Jean still ducks around them, keeping out of their way, keeping himself hidden. The lab partner looks towards Jean again, raising his eyebrow. Jean can't look him in the eye for as long as he should. 

“You _did_ hear about what they found, right?” the kid says. Jean shakes his head, aching to turn around again and hide how he's chewing the inside of his cheek.

“They found a trail of broken branches towards Sina River—someone was _flying_ through there. Apparently they're staging a full investigation. Bringing in some of the branches to be tested for their DNA and shit. The Wall really hates these guys."

“But they're fighting titans,” Connie says, voice full of genuine disbelief. God, he really _is_ a good actor.

“Yeah, but the Wall could have handled it. They're gonna bring in like, full blown fleets of tanks now. Those fucking Elects are doomed.”

Jean laughs, and the kid only looks at him for a second before going back to his paper. Jean glares at Connie before he turns around, wanting to slam his head into his desk. They're fucked. Connie has pulled himself into this, and they're fucked. Jean can't wait for the test results on the branches—he's pretty sure it's his father's division. His face ought to be priceless when he finds the matching DNA of the criminal he's tracking down.

 

The day of the pizza-redo finally arrives, the night after Reiner and Eren's last football sendoff ceremony and Armin's final newspaper meeting. Jean walks downtown, feeling the strangest déjà vu and constantly glancing in the direction where the first titan appeared in the skyline. The sun has already set, and it's setting Jean on edge again despite himself—he’s come to be on constant Titan Alert, and now he's realizing that he’s never fought one at night. If one were to come now, his best bet would be to fly up between those offices there, get up to the tallest building he can and—what is he thinking? Jean watches his feet on the pavement. He just needs unwind, to sit back and eat pizza with people he's begun to refer to as friends. Besides, he hasn't even seen Bertholt, Reiner and Annie since the last pizza date, besides quick glances of acknowledgement in the hall. Now, Jean slips into the building, sees a few of them already sitting at a table across the restaurant, and feels something else stirring in him besides the constant dread.

Marco was invited to the pizza-redo by unanimous decision, and when he comes through the door and walks up to the table Reiner is the first who looks up from the conversation to smile.

"Hey, I know you! Marco from Chemistry, right?" Marco points right back at him.

"Yeah! Hey, Reiner. And Bertholt, wow, I haven't seen much of you since you quit tennis." All eyes turn to Bertholt in an instant, who nearly chokes on his water.

"I only played for a year..." he says, and Marco laughs softly along with everyone, sitting down in the chair Jean had promised him, comfortable already.

He already has the entire table giggling when he takes a sip of water and says "It was a dark time for both of us." 

Conversation gets tough at a few points during the night, as three of them in the group have no idea that the others are part of some sort if weird team of monster-killing-freakshows. So sometimes the words will drop off into simply quick knowing looks before Reiner picks them up again, or Eren chimes in with something surprisingly funny. Jean settles into it, and feels good about the fact that Marco has suddenly joined the tradition. He's even getting Annie to crack half a smile, which Jean is considering an inhuman feat. Jean keeps his chair close, the one person in the world who he’d want to exchange off hand comments about everything around them sitting right next to him.

"Eren's now eaten eleven pieces. We'll see if he survives until tomorrow."

"My dad could make better sauce than this in his sleep."

"Yep, there goes Eren to the bathroom."

“I’m pretty sure Annie made the top of our class,” Marco whispers into Jean's ear, and Jean's hesitant gaze flickers to Annie, who is absentmindedly picking sausage off her pizza slice, and then Jean turns towards Marco wide-eyed in genuine surprise.

It's the quick second of Marco's breath against his neck and the closeness of the people around him that makes him carefully unwind ever so slightly. Descent pizza and good people. It's almost enough to make him forget. He only checks his phone twice.

 

Jean graduates tomorrow, and he doesn't know how he should feel about it. There's a freshly-pressed shirt in his closet and the promise of _one last day_ on his mind. Marco shook his shoulders while laughing as the last school period of the year came to close, pulling Jean out the door with him. High School is almost over, officially. Jean thinks that he should be finally be less stressed, should be able to sleep again.

But there hasn't been a titan attack for two and a half weeks. From the look that Jean sometimes sees reflecting back at him in the mirror he might've though that he's turning into Jaeger. It's ridiculous. Permanent scowl, sharp eyes, watching or listening to the news at nearly all hours of the day, while only thinking of the possibility that he might have to put his life at risk and fight one again.

Meanwhile, his parents have gone into hunting mode, bent over paperwork at all hours of the day. Jean only has the smallest idea of what it's really about. Chances are that the blood-work for the Wall that his Dad is working on is stored away somewhere within the locked office in his house, and Jean is afraid to tell any of his friends. Maybe mentioning that his father is someone who studies the blood from possibly dead specimens of people like them isn't the best idea, especially at a time like this.

But the current problem with his parents is graduation, and Jean just wishes that it was over already. But no matter how far up to their asses they are in paperwork, Jean's mother has promised that they will make it to his graduation, no matter what.

Most of the time Jean hopes that their work will pile up so high that they'll fall in.

 

Graduation day is hot, and his graduation robe is hotter. His mother's dress is red and spotted, and her lipstick has lightly stained the upper left side of Jean's forehead in an equally bright color. Sasha tried scrubbing the smudge for minutes and there's no sign of removing it.

Before the ceremony, the entire class still inside and his parents waiting for him somewhere out there, Jean adjusts his cap and stands alone among the rest of his class. He doesn't have anyone to hug or chat with, right now, so he simply stands. The few people he can call his friends aren't around; they have other people to dote over and give lasting goodbyes to. He expected this. He's an asshole, and people had realized it a long time ago. But it's okay, he guesses. He can just wait it out, wait until maybe someone comes to say hello—

“My hero,” says a voice behind him, and Jean smiles slightly to himself before reaching behind him and lightly shocking Marco's stomach. He gasps and grips his torso, eyes bright.

“And here I thought we decided that you wouldn't shock me anymore.” It's true, they _had_ decided that, while slaving over notebooks and prep for finals last week, a bead of sweat on Jean's forehead from the heat. Jean had been poking Marco with nervous electricity all day, until finally Marco had put on a serious face and told him to stop. Now, Marco moves his own cap further up his head with a smile brighter than the afternoon sun outside. Jean feels tiny butterflies fill his insides.

"I have no idea what you're talking about. I never promised anything." Marco blocks his attack this time, hissing through his teeth and shaking out his hand from the quick shock sent through his bones. 

Soon enough they all line up, but not before Jean is pulled into a group hug with all the people he's somehow survived with in Armin's tiny army. Mikasa is teary-eyed for unknown reasons, Sasha hugs Connie for longer than necessary, and suddenly there's another tap on Jean's shoulder.

“Finally made it, huh, Kirschtien,” Reiner Braun says loudly behind him. Jean turns, gives his attempt at a grin and shakes the jock's hand, who somehow looks especially masculine in his black robe. Eren jogs up to them and Jean backs away, letting Eren have his moment with Reiner. They were probably better friends with each other, anyway. Jean searches the crowd for Marco again, but it’s then when they're told to get back in line. The ceremony is beginning; Jean can already hear the school band muffled through the doors. _Shit fuck dammit_ , Jean thinks, over and over, as he follows behind people he'll never know and walks out into the summer sun.

Jean was taught in school that Elects were unnatural mutations, and Jean won't forget that. But the speeches made that day don't talk about those things they taught, or the things Jean remembers his principal muttering under his breath as Jean passed him by in the hall. Instead, there's one inspirational speech after another about hope going on and how, even in the darkest of times, people will come together to rise above. And shit, Jean really wishes he didn't hate it here. He really could've been genuinely enjoying himself at this ceremony, in another life. 

When Marco's name is called to receive his diploma, Jean cheers. Along with everyone else. Someone even comes out of the audience to sneak in a high five as he walks past. Sunlight reflecting off his mess of dark hair and flashing sunshine across his glasses, waving to his cheering parents in the crowd. Rose pedals might as well have been falling around him. Marco will be missed at Sina High. As he should be.

But Jean does not fly up there to get his diploma. He accepts the gentle applause that sounds when his name is called. He smiles into the camera that takes a picture of him and the piece of paper in his hands that means he's made it this far. He does not fly, he smiles. He is normal while he walks away, normal as he grips the diploma tight. Normal as he throws his cap in the air. Normal as someone else's falls back to earth and hits him in the eye.

 

Jean is out to get groceries for the family, seeing as directly after graduation his parents went back to doing exactly what they had been—virtually ignoring him (save for when they had come into Jean's room and told him to clean up and get rid of some of those damn plants). Now walking briskly in the dark, Jean thinks to himself that he probably shouldn't be out here at night, unless he wants to get stopped by a patrol. Those guys are everywhere, now, equipped with more than just the regulatory guns that they'd usually kept hidden away. Now they all hold massive guns in their arms at all times, in what Jean has heard is their attempt at "titan-proof" weapons. Jean knows it's bullshit, but it's stopped people from complaining that the Wall isn't doing enough against the creatures. People's anxiety over another attack is at an all time high—especially with the exceptionally few titans they've been having. Just one in Rose, last week, that was found mysteriously cut in the back of the neck. Elect hands, obviously. Those guns probably didn't do shit against the titan's indesructible skin. Jean hikes the grocery bags further into his hands, looking up at the moon in hopes that it'll stop shining and just hide him in the shadows until he gets home.

He turns around a corner, the tall and narrow buildings finally casting long shadows over him where the lights can't reach. He nearly misses it, but he's walked this street so many times that when he sees a flash of white against the black, he stops in his tracks. Backpedaling and peering his head into the alley he's passed, Jean's eyes widen when his gaze is dragged upwards. In a scrawl that drips white spray paint down the concrete, the words are big enough to cover half the wall. ELECTS RISE SO TITANS FALL. Jean turns away like he's been slapped, his cheeks flushing and his feet moving. He nearly runs the entire ride home, the imaginary titan's jaws half an inch behind him.

 

It's raining hard when Jean gets the call. As soon as Marco's number flashes on the screen Jean ducks out of folding laundry with his mother to answer in his room.

"Marco," Jean says as soon as he accepts the call.

"There's a fucking massive one downtown, Jean. I'm waiting for Mikasa to pick me up—get your mask ready." Jean feels icy hot terror run down his spine, checking over his shoulder.

"Dammit, not now. I can't just leave—my parents are right here."

"This is a city of millions of people, Jean. They've got us, those kids from school, and that might be it. Come on, please, Jean."

He pauses. "I'll meet you by the ginormous monster," Jean says wearily, before ending the call, grabbing a huge sweatshirt from the back of his closet and ducking back out of his room. "Hey, mom?" Jean calls into the living room.

"Everything okay? You bolted out of here—"

"Marco—um. Marco's having girl troubles." The words feel like barbs coming out of his mouth, but it's the first thing that comes to mind. "He wants me to go over to his place."

"Where does he live?" His mother asks. It's a normal question for her—can't have her son come in close contact with any _Elects_ , that's for sure.

"By Trost Park," Jean says warily. She turns back to her laundry after a moment, then glances back up at Jean.

"Have fun." she says quickly. And Jean nearly sprints out the door.

He pulls the sweatshirt up and over his head first, reaching for the mask in his pocket after. It's raining buckets, his hair plastered above his eyes in a mess, and Jean tries desperately to keep his hands in the deep pockets underneath the sweatshirt, safe and dry as he walks. Reaching an unfamiliar corner, Jean finally takes off, and flying is uncomfortable with both hands in his pockets, but it'll have to do. If his hands get wet, his electricity will sizzle out within seconds—and who knows what he's going to face pretty soon.

So Jean embraces the wet droplets blurring his vision and sails across the sky, until he remembers half a second too late and he hears the sound of a gun. Jean drops down and presses himself against the nearest house, realizing that he isn't too far now from the caution tape that surrounds some of the toppled buildings from the abnormal titan attack. If Jean can make it, he can fly all the way to the forest, maybe even find a comfy tree to set up in until the Wall clears out and forgets about him.  
  
But _shit_ , there's a titan running rampage through the buildings buried beneath clouds in the distance. As he waits for the crowd of officials to come racing after him, Jean gets and idea that is going to completely fuck him over. But, it's his best option at the moment.

Jean raises his feet from the ground and shoots straight upwards towards the clouds, soaking the front of his sweatshirt.

Hands cold and wet despite his efforts, Jean takes them out and presses them to his sides as he flies towards the cover of the low-hanging clouds. There's more gunshot behind him as he flies faster, and then he enters the gray. Flying further still, he doesn't stop until he breaks through the other side of the clouds altogether. The rain stops instantly, and he can open his eyes.

A blue sky above him, Jean hovers, breath coming quick and panicked. To his right, Jean can see the top of a skyscraper, the blinking light at the very top of it beckoning him closer. Jean sails towards it, the panic giving way to giddiness as he reaches down to run a hand through the sheet of gray below him. He almost got _shot_. He's soaking wet and tired and there's people being killed below him. But up here—up here he can breathe. Until he knows he's hit downtown, from the sound of honking horns and crashing below. Jean reaches the skyscraper, touches the side with his fingers once, letting go of his moment of confused bliss. And then he lets himself fall.

The rain hits him hard again, passing through the cloud, and as son as Jean scrapes the water from his eyes he's met with the sight of blood spurting from the torso of someone as they slowly slip into the jaws of the titan standing a few feet below him.

Jean sees the dead eyes of the woman, her wet hair strung across their face, and Jean immediately puts his hands in front of him and wills the electric terror to come bursting forth and just _stop this, make this stop_. Instead there's a tiny burst of sparks, and the person slips down the titan's throat. Jean's vision start to blur from more than the rain, and before he can knock sense into himself he rushes past the titan and gets the hell out of there.

 

Standing under the tiny cover of a windowsill on the top floor of a building complex, the only thing Jean can think to do is call Marco.

"Jean! You there yet?"

"I'm here. What the hell are we gonna do? Do Connie and Sasha have their swords or something?"

"Yeah, Connie's got them in his backpack. Just electrocute one of them while you're over there—"

"My current's fried from the rain, Marco. Wait, what?"

It takes him a moment. "There's another, Jean."

"What? what do you mean there's _another?_ "

“I mean that I can see two titans from the backseat of Connie's car. Goddammit, there's no way we’re gonna be able to fight it with all these people around.”

Jean racks his brain for a fraction of a plan, desperately trying to dry off his hands while keeping his phone from the rain. 

“Just tell Eren to distract it with fire or something—burn it’s eyes out while Connie or Sasha stabs it. I’ll catch them in the air and fly them away if they want. Mikasa could set up another trap, Armin could lift that pointy statue on Second Street and throw it—god Marco, I'm so tired already.”

There's rustling on the other side, and it's Sasha's voice who replies. “Jean honey, you’re on speakerphone." Jean presses the cracked screen closer to his cheek. “And you've also just been unanimously elected leader of whatever this team is called."

Another voice Jean can't place chimes in. “Hold on, we’re getting out of the car.” Jean waits until the voice returns.

“Hi, Ymir here.” Jean doesn't even know where she came from, but suddenly she's talking. “You’re a bit of a leader type, aren't you. Look, what do you want us to do?”

“I—” Jean chokes on words that he has no idea how to say. He is not their _leader_ —he’s standing on a rooftop alone staring at a titan in the process of killing everyone around him.

“I’m gonna need one of Connie's swords.”

“Then come fly here and get—” her voice breaks away, Jean panics, before Armin is on the line and barks the street they're hiding by.

“On my way,” Jean answers. Anything to give him a purpose, to keep him from standing up here and watching the bald titan's hands cover themselves in blood.

Jean flies there as quickly as he can make himself, the crashing of wreckage and buildings collapsing fueling him forward. Armin is waiting for him on the street corner, and as Jean flies past a group of people huddled nearby, one of them cries out in fear. Jean can only barely react to it, before he flies lower and reaches for the sword to take out of Armin's hands. His baseball cap peeks out from beneath his raincoat, blue mask unable to hide his worried look.

"Find some way to defend yourself, yeah? Who's coming with me?"

"Don't tire yourself out, Jean." Connie has stepped out from inside the shop on the corner, Sasha following close behind. That must be where the rest of them are. "Where'd you come from?" Jean doesn't know the address, but points to the roof of the building where he came, in the distance.

"On top of that building complex—" Jean whips around suddenly when he hears crashing from the other direction, getting his first look at the second titan. It's eyes are beady and it's back is hunched as it walks along, the sound of gunfire following behind. He doesn't have time to watch it, though, even if it's hard to look away. So Jean swallows, tries to keep himself levelheaded, and lands next to Armin on the street.

"Armin, listen to me. I know you're smart enough to come up with something—we're gonna go try to kill the big one over here. Try to remember everything that I suggested—I forget it all, but just try, Armin." He stares at Armin through his mask, unprepared and wet and begging for him to make this stop.

And then he lifts into the air, points at the roof where he's headed, and Sasha and Connie nod with him.

"Go get 'em," Armin says, and then turns to rush back inside the shop. Jean thinks he sees Marco give him a thumbs up from inside.

He flies, Connie speeding past him as soon as he takes off. Sasha is probably already up there. More people are running away from the direction Jean is flying, screaming as he sails past. Sasha and Connie are waiting for him in the roof when he practically falls to the gravel surface, and when he catches his breath Jean finally sees the swords in their hands, water dripping from the blades.

"When the Elects at school killed the titan, one of them cut off a leg to make it fall. Connie, you think you can do that?" Jean has to shout, the ground shaking beneath them every couple seconds.

"Wait until it gets closer," Sasha cries, stopping Connie from starting to run. "We've gotta time this right." She then turns to Jean, thrusting the sword in her hands towards him. "I'll let you have the honor."

"I don't know if I can keep flying," Jean says. Behind her, there's an explosion of fire in the direction they'd just left. It could have been a car, a building, or even Eren, but it's the location that nearly sets Jean ablaze. "That came from by the shop they're in." Sasha turns to look with him.

"Guys, it's here!" Connie shouts.

"I'll go make sure they're okay," Sasha says to Jean, who's shaking so bad he can barely hold the sword in his hands. "Go, Jean." He turns before she teleports away, distracted by Connie's battle cry as Jean loses sight of him in the rain. He must've ran off somewhere, and Jean walks forward to the edge of the roof to see if Connie can really pull this off. It happens all at once; the titan is walking past the roof Jean is standing on, then there's the quick sound of slicing flesh and the titan heaves as it falls forward. Just like the one at school—it's then when Jean realizes it's time for him to do something.

Still holding the sword with both hands, Jean jumps off the edge of the roof, catching himself on the air and pausing. He hopes that whatever Armin has formulated is working. That the explosion was nowhere near them. That he'll survive this.

With the final burst of energy he has, Jean flies toward the thing, its neck at a clear shot, pulling the sword behind his head and getting ready. Jean freezes midair when the titan waves its arms back towards him, regaining its footing, and its arm collides with Jean and knocks him aside easily. Jean is all too aware of the pain, that he's flying through the air backwards and can't stop, until his back hits glass that shatters around him. He lands, rolling to a stop, the air empty from his lungs. There's hard tile beneath him, and his shoulder is pressed against a wooden desk. The office's window has a gaping hole in it, a few last pieces of glass falling to the floor. Jean watches the rain, listens to the wind flooding through the open window. Struggling to sit up again, Jean hears and feels the steps of the titan turning, probably to finish the job or maybe crush the entire building around him. It opens its mouth just a tiny bit as Jean watches, reminding him what's to come. Jean turns himself away, closing his eyes.

The sound of metal snapping into place, a deafening whir, followed by multiple shouts flying through the air drags Jean's closing eyes open again. The sound of a blade hitting skin makes his breath go ragged, the ground quaking beneath him when he realizes that it just hit the groud. Someone just killed it.

There's barely enough time for him to pull in another breath, sitting still on the tile and bits of glass surrounding him, before other pairs of feet are crunching the shards from behind him. Jean reaches for the sword next to him on instinct, hand curling around it and rising to his knees, ready to fight whatever authorities have already made it up here to take him away.

But Jean turns, sees the billowing cloaks caught in the wind, the glare from the strange, rectangular swords in the daylight, the black masks on figures standing in the place where Jean had broken through the glass.

"Stand up, kid," one of the figures orders, and Jean does, sword still in hand, finally bringing his eyes to the crest that dons the the corner of one of the cloaks. From under the hood, all Jean can see is their masks, but Jean doesn't need to see more. These guys aren't from the Wall. "Now follow us, unless you'd like to meet the bastards climbing up here to shoot you. "

Jean lets out an exasperated breath, shaking a few glass shards from the back of his hoodie, already feeling them scratching up his neck. He can barely keep his sword up, and they want him to—

One of the three takes one step back and falls out the window. Jean takes a panicked step forward to watch in horror, thinking _there's no way_ _they'll make it_ —but instead, two cables extend from either side of the gear on their hips and lock onto the sides of buildings below, swinging them forwards and above the crowds, then pulling back from the walls and onto another. Jean's never seen anything like it, but the person is _flying_ —and soon after the other two standing with Jean drop off the edge and follow. So Jean tentatively takes a few steps forward, downtown Sina still bustling beneath him. Crowds of people watch below, surrounding the dead titan directly below him, its decaying steam rising to where he stands. In the distance are three members of the Extra Corps, one flying above the rest, the others using those metal contraptions to launch themselves forward. So, when Jean sees a Wall helicopter start to approach his building, he feels his stomach lurch before he jumps, too.

 

He doesn't remember nearly any of the details, as his head is spinning with terror and confusion and exhaustion as he follows the people in front of him far away from the gathering crowds and into one of the more vacant neightborhoods of Sina; small, dark homes surrounded by abandoned or run-down shops. The streets are unwelcoming, yet Jean's cloaked saviors move further through the streets, apparently as far away from the titan's decaying corpse as they can. Ambulances and sirens wail far away, and Jean flies to escape it, escape everything, eyes locked on the cloak flying without cables in front of him.

As soon as they land, waiting for Jean in a small huddle on one of the darker streets, Jean tries to land as smoothly as possible next to them. Jean opens his mouth to say something, but the tallest of the three places a hand on his shoulder and shoves him inside the nearest door frame. "What the fuck—" Jean starts, but the door closes and it’s pitch black, the smell of rotting wood surrounding him. A strong arm pulls Jean along in the darkness until they reach another door. Ushered inside, this room is brightly lit, so much so that Jean's eyes need to adjust. Gaze first rising to the ceiling, Jean sees old wooden beams give way to silver metal walls, shelves on every wall filled with every kind of artillery and swords he can imagine. There's a metal table in the center, low-hanging light above it, and at least twenty people in cloaks walking around the room, many of them soaking wet. And then among them, Jean sees Eren Jaeger. Wait—

“Jean!” Jean turns in time to catch Marco's smile, rushing up to him after squeezing between two green cloaks. Marco's glasses are covered in rainwater, matching droplets littering the skin among his freckles. But then Jean sees what's in his hand—a _gun_ —the same gun that the Wall patrols have been carrying around for weeks now.

"Marco," Jean breathes, coming close to him, narrowing his eyes at the weapon he's cradling like it's nothing.

“Where the hell did you get that?” Marco  _seems_  just fine, at least, but Jean checks his face, his arms, for some sort of evidence of a fight. You don't just _get_ guns like that. And then give them to Marco Bodt. He simply keeps a small, smug grin.

“That's the thing about being completely normal and trying to save people from titans, Jean. It sucks. So Ymir got us these.”

The sight of a gun in Marco's hands makes Jean's jaw tighten, but before he can reach to take it away from him there's another voice above the boy in front of him.

"Sasha was the one who really _persuaded_ them—I just threw the punches," Ymir says, now coming to stand behind Marco's smiling face. "You told us to defend ourselves." Jean looks bewilderingly up at her after giving the gun one last glare. Her expression changes for a moment, and Jean suddenly feels like she can read every element of him, Jean starting to blush when she breaks their gaze to glace at Marco. Then her eyebrow slowly raises, and Jean forces himself to look past her to everyone else, soaking wet and standing in together in one corner of the room.

Jean is in the presence of Extra Corps, and his friends are here. This is real, no matter how much he's going to try to convince himself it's not.

"How did you get here?" He asks.

Marco reaches over to lay his gun on the table so he can wipe his glasses clean. "They came out of nowhere. Must have had some invisible Elects with them or something. They told us to come here before we got tracked down, so we did."

Jean stares at him, trying to connect it all. They must've known about them all for a while, to so carefully find them all at the same time. But this is the Extra Corps, and Jean didn't know if they were even truly  _real._ And now he's standing in a room full of them.

“Hey, kids. Get over here,” One of the Corps guys calls out, before he finally pulls back the hood from his head. The others do the same, and Jean finds himself taking off his own hoodie as well. Fellow Elects, fellow criminals. They're still wearing masks, but now at least they're equal.

Jean can only recognize one of the three who took him away, the shortest of the bunch, leaning against the wall behind the rest of them and tapping his boot impatiently.

Many of the Corps have left the room, leaving only a small crowd of them. One is a woman whose manic gaze can be seen through her black mask and her uncertain smile never falters. Both the man leaning against the wall and his opposite on the height scale stand with stony glares that pan over the crowd of kids standing, huddled together. The taller one, placing his sword on the table, walks closer to them.

"I'm afraid I can't introduce myself quite yet." He says, holding his hands behind his back. He looks like a military officer or something from how he starts slowly pacing then, but then again Jean guesses that's what this is—all part of something that he didn't sign up for. The man continues. "But each of you are Elects. And so are we. So really, this is just a small family get-together." He laughs at his own joke, drops of water falling between his thick brows from the mess of blonde hair on his head. After he says that, Marco and Jean can't seem to keep their eyes from flickering to one another, before Marco slowly reaches a hand up and carefully zips his lips.

"You're standing in one of the many artillery bases that we have throughout Sina. It's not our nicest, but it's safe from anyone who might want you dead."

Another one of them, a petite woman with strawberry blonde hair and still holding her two swords by her side, takes a step forwards.

“This isn't the best time for us to try to be recruiting—obviously. In a perfect world we would approach you individually."

"In a perfect world we wouldn't need fucking recruits." The short one says, the color of his mask matching his stringy black hair, rolling his eyes to himself.

"We're the adults in this situation, Lance Corporal—" Eyebrows Guy stops himself, and the shorter corporal simply stares straight aheas. The blonde woman continues after staring daggers at both of them.

"But we have eyes all over this town, and some are saying that the Defensive Branch is close on the tail of finding a few if you. And of course there's the more pressing matter—there is a war coming. One that could mean the life and death of more than just a few people. Titans are going to get more frequent, and they might just eliminate the human race altogether." She pauses for a reaction, but each of them have fallen into shocked silence. "Elects are the only ones that can stop it. It pains me to say this to such bright young Elects, but we need you.”

Jean wishes he was sitting down, from how suddenly he's seeing stars. He really is going to have to join them. Fighting titans is going to become his life. He's going to die.

“You want us to leave our families?" Ymir speaks up. "To join some Extra Corp foundation?"

Beside her, Christa speaks up. "I haven't heard too many good things about you guys—”

“Our reputation is shit, I'll give you that." The lance corporal interrupts. "But we're the ones who save Elects like you from being killed without trial. Would you rather be locked up and experimented on?”

Jean is the one who speaks up this time. “How do we know you don't just lock up the ones you're 'recruiting' and experiment weird shit on them?”

And then those tired eyes and scowl is turning to settle on Jean.

“First of all, you and a few others are the only ones we've been able to find in Sina. And second, I'm a lot more like you than you think, Jean.” Jean doesn't have much time to process the fact that this guy knows his name, because within the next few seconds he's rising from the ground. It was him Jean saw, it was him who he followed close behind, the only other one who could fly. The corporal shrugs his shoulders, flying higher. "Look familiar?"

The red-haired woman buts in, Jean's eyes still locked on the stony gaze of the man hovering above them all. “We don't have much time, but here's our proposition—if you want to stop this war and kill off the titans once and for all, come to the second platform of the 104th street subway for the fifteenth train, this Saturday. Two in the morning.”

“And what if we just go tell the Wall you’re gonna be there?” Ymir challenges. Christa reaches for her arm.

“Then you'd be costing the lives of those who are trying to save yours. If you don't want in, just keep on living your life, and forget all about us. Well, we’ll make sure you do.”

"If we go with you..." Armin starts, and Jean finally turns to him, blue eyes wide, hands nervously stretching at his sides. "We'll be criminals for the rest of our lives."

The woman with glasses instead of a mask and hair drying in disarray stretches her neck from side to side. Jean glances at the corporal, still hovering and looking sharply around the group.

"Not exactly, Arlert. You won't be giving up your names or identities unless you're caught. Sure, there'll be suspicion, but we have many more members than you kids know that can make sure you won't be under that much of a spotlight. You'll simply be missing while you go through training with us. If we don't deem you suitable, you go home."

"But once you rank above trainee with us, that's it. You're one of us, you're a wanted man. That's the life, kid."

"Second platform this Saturday, two in the morning." The petite woman gives a small, grave nod afterwards. She waits, deathly silence covering the room. The sound of and ambulance is muffled in the distance. "We'll escort you in pairs out of here. Less suspicious that way, yes?" The short woman smiles slightly, then steps out of the room with a few other cloaks following behind.

 

They've fallen into little groups around the brightly-lit room, Jean's head still spinning. None of it seems real, because it's _not, it can't be_. Jean can hear Mikasa and Eren's hushed whispers a short ways away. Eren had been strangely silent the entire time, and now Mikasa is looking down at her feet while they whisper to one another. Jean tries to catch some of what they're saying.

"I've made my choice—"

“I want to, but Mom—we can't jut leave her.”

“This is a cause worth fighting for. The _Extra Corps_ , they want me to fight with them!”

Jean turns away from them, facing the boy who's sitting cross-legged with him on the polished floor.

“I’m not going with them, Marco.” Jean decides. He doesn't look up to see how Marco reacts, but he should have. Before Marco can reply, a burly man comes into the room, hood of his cloak pulled over his head, and orders for another pair to follow him. No one moves, so he points to Marco and Armin, then tells them to come with.

Marco stands, brushes Jean's arm. “We’ll talk later, you hear me? We’re talking about this,” he says, before he struggles with the man's grip for a few moments and disappears behind the massive door. Jean follows with Sasha by his side when he's brought back outside a few minutes later, given a route back to his home by a man with a thick mustache and a raspy voice. Jean nods to him and then starts walking, Sasha by his side, the rain letting up but the clouds still swirling gray.

"Never thought that'd happen."

"Never," Jean agrees with her, until it falls silent again. "Are you going with them?"

"Probably," Sasha admits, almost guiltily. Jean can't help the harsh glare he points her way for a moment. He stops himself when she starts to turn towards him, though. "I don't know, it's a lot for anyone, you know? Just leaving everything behind. But—"

"We've seen everything that a titan can do. And if there's no one else that can stop them..."

"Then it has to be us." Sasha sighs dramatically, before laughing softly to herself. 

"What about Mikasa? Or Marco? What do you think they'll do?"

"I think they'll go," she answers. Jean wants to shake her shoulders, make her take it back. But it's the truth. They stay quiet, the kind of quiet that's filled with heavy thoughts and air filled with dust from the debris laying around them. But they're still a couple miles away from home, and Jean isn't sure that he can take it.

"Listen, do you want me to just bring us over to your house or something?" Sasha asks. Cluelessly, Jean looks to her, before remembering.

"You mean, teleport us there?" He swallows, rejecting the idea in his mind but nodding instead. "If you think you can handle it."

"It's not that far," Sasha says, her hair still a mess from the rain and her wet socks sloshing in her shoes. She leads them over to an alcove out of the view of the street, reaches out her hand for Jean to take, her fingertips softly glowing. Jean presses all his electricity down as far as he can, careful not to shock her. And as soon as they touch, Jean sees the flash of white, and then he's standing under a line of trees next to his street corner. She even had the decency to place them somewhere out of view.

"Thanks," Jean says, his voice shakier than he means.

"I'll see you on Saturday, then. Someone's got to lead us on this crazy thing, right?" Sasha says, turning to walk away from him, hands in the pockets of her shorts. Jean doesn't have the heart to correct her, or maybe he can't.

 

When Jean gets back home, clothes finally starting to dry, he steps into his living room with an ache in his shoulders and a tiny shard of glass lodged somewhere in his back. He hopes he doesn't look too terrible at first glance. His father is still sitting on the couch, the voice on the screen in front of him saying that single word that sends a chill down Jean's spine. But, glancing at the clock once, Jean sees that it's not nearly late enough for his dad to ask questions. Maybe he can just sneak past. 

"The world is going to shit," is what his father says when Jean walks past him, not even bothering to look at him. Jean doesn't look at what he's watching, either.

"Sure is," Jean deadpans. He _knows that_ , of course.

"You were at a friend's house, right? Nowhere near those titans?"

"Yeah, Dad. We didn't even know it'd happened until later."

"Well you missed dinner. Your mother put the leftovers in the fridge."  He grumbles to himself, shifting on the couch. And that's the end of their conversation. Jean goes to the fridge, opens it, feels his knees threaten to give out. He grabs his food, then a beer from the back, glancing over his shoulder at his father on the couch. Walking back to his room with cold food and cold beer and cold clothes, he wishes he could fall into a sleep without waking up from nightmares, sweating.

He eats in silence, the sirens still blaring outside. He hates every centimeter of his electric nerves.

 

The morning after is the first time Jean lets himself hear about the dead. He tries to tally the number in his head, tries to make sense of it all. Sina is in a standstill. They're talking about evacuations of the downtown area, through heated debates of men in suits arguing around a table on TV. But they're not sure where they would send any evacuees—no one knows where the next titan might be. There was one on the outer edge of Rose this morning, taken down before it got too far by a slice to the back of it's neck. But still, the devastation in Sina is too much for Jean to handle, to know that it's his fault. _Hundreds_. Jean tries to make sense of the number. He sat on a rooftop and did nothing while hundreds of people were eaten alive or crushed to their death.

And then there's a call from Armin in the early afternoon, when Jean is hiding from everything in his room. For some reason buried deep within him, he thinks he knows what Armin is going to say to him even before he answers. Everyone else around him has been respectfully quiet to him, even Marco. Armin would only break his illusion of silence to say the worst.

“Eren's mom is dead.”

Jean draws in a single breath, lets it sink in as far as it can.

“She wasn't—she wasn't eate—”

“No. She was downtown. She was killed in one of the falling buildings.”

Jean squeezes his eyes closed, guilt toppling over every other feelings he might having, crushing them like a falling skyscraper. He squeezes the next words out through the cracks.

“How are Eren and Mikasa?”

“They're—" Armin pauses, and Jean sees her now, sees the short snapshots of Mrs. Jaeger that he got, then sees the building falling on top of her while Jean sits on his cellphone in the distance. "They're terrible, Jean. You know that." Jean leans back on his sheets, covers his eyes with his arm. Hundreds of people died. But this is first time he's heard of someone he knows, someone he's seen with his own eyes, someone who stopped breathing because of a titan. He can't handle it all.

“I'm gonna try to sleep, Armin.”

"Sorry, Jean. I just thought you'd want to know."

"Don't be sorry, Armin. Tell them I'm sorry, dammit. Tell Eren and Mikasa I'm sorry."

Armin pauses for what seems like forever, for so long that Jean thinks he might've just hung up. "I'll see you soon," he says, and then Jean hangs up and throws his phone to the other side of the bed.

 

It's three in the morning on Friday when Jean finally calls Marco. His voice sounds thick with sleep when he answers, and Jean can almost imagine the bedhead. It calms him somehow, sitting on the roof and staring hard at the skyline.

“I can't go to business school like my parents want me to, Marco. I can't stay here.”

“This isn't a decision we should have to be making,” is what Marco answers.

“I'll miss my parents. They'll hate me forever, do you fucking get that Marco? They'll hate me and I’ll still miss them.”

“You'll be keeping them safe, though. You'd be keeping everyone safe.”

Jean sighs, rubbing his neck and sighing into the phone.

“What are you gonna do?” Jean asks him. Over the days alone, Jean has thought over what Marco might answer. It still hurts, though. God, he's such an asshole for wanting him to stay hidden, maybe in a cave somewhere, until any trace of a titan is gone.

“I’m going with you.” There it is.

“Marco, no—”

“I’m not gonna sit on the sidelines and get eaten by a titan, Jean.”

“I don't want you to fucking go, Marco. I saved your ass, I don't want you going and getting yourself killed.” Jean listens to Marco's voice settle into something firmer, and Jean narrows his eyes at the horizon.

“Eren isn't the only one who wants a purpose in his life, you know. I don't want to make restaurant food for a living, and I don't want to write about adventures I could have had. I wanna serve a higher purpose in life—I don’t care how stupid I sound right now, it’s three in the morning and Jean, stop smiling.” On the other side of the line, Jean pushes his lips back down.

They're both quiet over the line, and it's comfortable, somehow. Like Marco's on the roof right there with him.

“They're gonna find out you’re not one of us.”

“Maybe.” He even sounds like he's shrugging.

“Both of us could die.”

“It's gonna be all right.” He sounds so sure of himself. Jean feels his lips start to rise again, comfortable silence settling around them again.

"Are you on the roof right now?"

"I am."

"Here, look over where you think my house is." Jean gives a bitter laugh, the first hint at happiness in the last few days.

"Okay, I'm looking." The neighborhood of widespread houses and freshly-cut lawns. He can only see a little bit of it through the tree next to Jean's house, but he's still looking, leaning as far as he dares.

"All right. I'm flicking my lights on and off, can you see?" Jean leans further still, and he thinks he might see it through the mess of homes below him and through his fringe he can't be bothered to fix.

"Barely. But hello," Jean says, Marco's small laugh giving his skin goosebumps. Or maybe it's the wind.

"Hello," Marco quietly answers, smiling behind him words. Jean doesn't know what to say, filled to the top with guilt and sadness and anxiety but smiling all the same.

“Goodnight, Jean." Marco finally says. "Pick me up at one in the morning tomorrow?”

“Sure. Goodnight, Marco.” It's only after he hangs up that he realizes he's agreed.

 

On the most important day of his life, Jean Kirschtein wakes up in a puddle of his own drool. A week of sleeplessness caught up to him at once, Marco somehow putting him to sleep for an entire night. But even with an entire night of rest, the uneasiness comes shooting back to him soon enough. He spends the entire day hovering around his parents, beyond his better judgement. He puts dishes away without being asked, he sits with his mom when she's nursing her third cup of coffee, and looks at the clock more than he means to. Time is running out—time that he knew would run out soon enough—but it still leaves him feeling empty when he tells his parents goodnight. It's a goodnight, and it's a goodbye.

He should feel more guilty about this than he does, when the time finally comes. He should feel bitter guilt, and fear, and he should close back up his window and climb into bed and forget he ever tried to leave. But he'd said goodbye; and when they both turned to look at him his eyes had started to water before he turned around and made himself stop. He should feel terrible. But instead he feels inescapable excitement of the uncertainty of what he's about to do. Backpack of belongings on his back and beer in hand, Jean goes to climb out of his bedroom window. He says his small and final goodbye to his room. He caresses the leaves of one of his plants with a touch that's too soft to be anything but a final goodbye.

And then there's the thought that really does make him want to climb back inside—maybe, if he’s lucky, his mother will have the heart to water his plants after he's gone.

On the grass outside his front door, Jean sticks to the shadows and takes a swig of the beer. If he gets caught walking the streets at night, it'll be for more than just drinking underage. He might just electrocute anyone who comes too close to him, though. What has he got to lose, now that he's thrown away his entire life?

 

Marco's house is the sixth one on the left. Jean can find it easily, by the way his mind remembers the vision of Marco walking away from him those weeks ago. But now, Jean has realized—that instead of coming to rescue him, he's here to escort Marco to his certain death.

It looks like any other home on the street, save the soft light coming in through a top-story window. Jean thinks to himself that it'd probably be easier if Marco just climbed out his window and Jean carried him down. As long as they're quiet, a plan like that could leave them happily on their way within a few minutes. On the Bodt front lawn, Jean takes a deep breath. What is he doing here? Marco should _not_ be coming with him to do this. This is not something that he should tag along with.

But, with a churning of nervousness in his stomach that Jean can't stop, he knows he doesn't want to take one step towards the Extra Corps without Marco Bodt beside him. So he cracks his neck to both sides, takes a small running start to fly up to his window, and looks inside through the half-drawn curtain.

Marco is facing away from him, bare shoulders giving way to smooth back as he turns towards his bed and shoves some last minute additions into a backpack. Jean turns from the window and presses himself against the siding. Maybe if he pushes hard enough against the side of the house he’ll just disappear, or get sucked inside of the shadows themselves. _Holy shit_. Marco's back has freckles, too. Not as many as on his face, but yeah, there were definitely freckles. Jean is moving to peer inside again before he realizes.

He's now moved to the mirror propped up in the corner of his room—he runs one hand over his chin and then over both his eyes before reaching for the belt of his jeans. Jean feels his heart actually pound— _holy shit why are you looking_ —and Marco's hand catches his boxers just in time as he pulls himself out of the pants and folds them carefully on his bed. Jean watches the dip in his lower back move as he bends down and—what the fuck is Jean doing right now.

Marco walks across his room—nearly naked and very freckled and reaching for a pair of soft sweatpants instead. Marco's eyes start to lift from the floor when he pulls them on and—Jean catches himself and flings his back against the siding again. His heart has kicked into full gear, his mind's eye replaying the back muscles and the way his boxers hung so low. And then Jean drops to the ground and lands on the grass, reaching to tear out his own hair.

“Shut the fuck up,” Jean whispers to his own head. He sees Connie's smirk and Ymir's slow eyebrow raise and shut up—he’s freaked out that he nearly saw his friend fully strip in front of him. It's enough to get his heart beating. He's just nervous, and he's flying in the middle of a crowded neighborhood—that's enough to make him like this. Then Marco's window opens.

“Jean?” He whisper-shouts into the night. Jean turns, tries to slow his heart or at least get his crazed smile to fall, and lifts his hand into a wave.

“Hi,” he starts.

“How long have you been standing there?”

Jean's heart picks up the pace to unseen heights. He waves Marco off, though, trying to block his face in the process. “Oh! not even a minute.”

“Okay! Um, could you gimme a hand?" Marco asks him.

“Sure, man” Jean replies, hoping that his attempt at casual is enough. They're friends, after all. But even with a t-shirt back on his body, it's still hard to look at Marco when he flies back up to the window.

It's even worse when he has to carry Marco down from his window, but Marco cracks a joke at one point and Jean laughs so hard that he nearly drops him. He shushes Marco and himself as they land on the ground, Jean starting to walk away from the house and towards the direction of the tall buildings looming in the distance. It's then when he realizes that Marco isn't behind him.

He looks back over his shoulder first, and then sees Marco still standing in his front lawn, simply looking up at the house in front of him. Jean takes a few steps back towards him.

"Sorry, I'm just...sorry." Marco turns away, turns and walks past Jean instead of with him, for the first time in their short friendship. It throws him off, but he looks up at Marco's house for a moment too, before turning around and following the boy in front of him.

They start to walk downtown, where things are especially dead tonight. Jean has a feeling it might have something to do with the Extra Corps, thinking that maybe they're hiding in every crevice of the city, since they apparently have so many secret locations around Sina. Marco is quiet next to him, as they stick to the shadows and walk along, Jean's skin still crawling with excitement. They cross a familiar alleyway, and Jean stops walking.

"Hey, Marco. Check this out," Jean says, reaching to tug on the taller boy's arm and pull him into the alley. Jean lets his eyes wander up the side of the building, waiting to see the spray paint that had given him the strangest mix hope and terror. But instead, Jean sees blocks of fresh white paint, strokes uneven in places so as to fully cover the words, but an ordinary block all the same.

"What should I be looking at?" Marco questions.

"There was spray paint here...a few weeks ago. It said something about...Elects. Titans."

"Someone wrote about Elects here?"

Jean wordlessly nods, a sinking feeling traveling all the way to his core. This isn't going to work. Leaving was a mistake. He's going to die.

"Let's just keep going, Jean. 104th Street is coming up soon, yeah? Let's...let's keep going." Jean turns back to him and away from where the words were, Marco glowing under the lights in flannel and sweatpants, gentle smile barely reaching his eyes.

"Lead the way," Jean says. For a moment, he wishes that he were anywhere but here, under the lights of the shop next to them, walking quicker to catch up to Marco's pace. Even math class would be better than knowing that he might never walk these streets again.

Their footsteps echo down the stairs to the subway station, still half an hour before the Extra Corps are expected to show up. The subway station is a ghost town as well, and Jean catches Marco looking in every direction, down every hall.

"Where is everyone?" He asks. "I've taken the train this late before, there's always people down here."

"Maybe with the titans and everything they're just hiding inside, waiting for the end," Jean says, voice bouncing down an empty hall. "Why were you on a train this late?"

"I took a writing class in Rose," is all Marco says. Jean pushes the sleeves of his shirt up his arms and winces when he fabric touches a cut from a piece of glass that still hasn't healed.

They find Christa and Ymir first, coming down the stairs from another entrance to the station.

"Good morning, ladies." Marco says, and Christa twiddles her fingers towards them both.

"Ready to ruin our lives?" Ymir asks, smiling smugly in Jean's direction. Together, they walk to the second platform of the fifteenth train. Armin, Eren and Mikasa are already sitting together, leaning against one of the poles in the middle of the station in silence. Jean doesn't say anything to Eren or Mikasa; he doesn't know how someone like him could apologize at a time like this. The fact that they came is too much for him to speak about. So he keeps his lips shut. Connie and Sasha join them their huddle of silence within minutes, placing their backpacks off to the side and eventually being the ones to break the quiet. 

Marco and Jean sit shoulder to shoulder on the platform, surrounded by classmates and friends, now quietly talking and waiting for what's to come. Jean finds himelf watching the side of Marco's face as he tells only one childhood story, a new low for any time they spend more than five minutes together. He must not be as fine as he wants everyone to think. His scar twitches with his smile, and Jean looks at the raised skin, colored a deeper shade of pink than the rest of his face. It's the only place on his cheeks untouched by the constellation of freckles across his face. Jean only looks away when he hears the steady whirring, softer at first, of a train coming down the tracks.

"Right on time," Connie says, almost drearily. Eren sniffs loudly, and Jean doesn't look towards him, just locks his eyes on the tunnel that the train should be coming from, and waits. When an automated voice comes over the speakers announcing its arrival, each of them rises, picking up their things wordlessly. The train rumbles louder, coming closer, before it comes soaring into the station. From what Jean can see from the illuminated inside of each car, they're empty. Every one. Until the car in front of the second platform comes steaming to a stop. The doors open, and nine of them, green cloaks over their heads, take steps in their black boots that echo through the empty station. The shorter corporal and Eyebrows walks out, their features still slightly visible in the shadows. The cloaks blow almost dreamily as the shorter one folds his arms, black mask not able to hide the satisfaction in his stony eyes.

“Every one of you? Tch,” he says, while the automated voice above tells them they have thirty seconds until departure. “I knew I picked a good bunch of freaks.”

“Welcome to the Extra Corps," One of them says. The next thing that happens makes Jean take a step back, not that all of this hasn't gotten his breath coming quick and short. They each pull something from the inside of their jackets, and it's nearly too late when Jean realizes what it is. 

“Wait, what the hell,” Jean mutters. One of them, faceless underneath the hood, rushes towards him, as the rest charge for his friends around him. Jean reaches for Marco's arm as soon as the cloth is pressed to his face, breathing it in too soon. He struggles in the man's grip for only seconds before his muscles start to give out underneath him. He's already fading, red vines in the corner of his vision. The world goes black before his lightning can even try to crackle to life.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the plot thickens.......
> 
> (sorry about the long wait!! i really have no excuse other than i am trash. come yell at me about it at jacklalonde.tumblr.com!)
> 
> also: i'm publishing this very late at night, so if it's riddled with mistakes right now then /shrug i'll try to fix them all tomorrow


	5. A Few Strings Attached

When Jean opens his eyes, it's dark. Fabric scratches against his nose and it only takes him a moment before he and he realizes he's blindfolded. Hands tied behind his back, Jean tries to tear his hands apart from the wires that bind them. They only dig in further.

"Where the hell am I?!" Jean shouts into the silence. He tries to stand, but a strong grip pushes him back down, fingers digging into his shoulder.

“Hey, Kirschtein. You decided to join the party,” a voice says in front of him. Trying to place a face to the voice, Jean listens to the clattering of wheels under him, feeling the occasional bump in the tracks that jolts him. He's on a train. He's blindfolded. The grip loosens.

“Where am I?” Jean repeats, softer this time.

There's another voice, further off, that's unrecognizable. “You didn't think we were just gonna show you the way to headquarters, did you?”

Jean opens his mouth to argue, but his breath stops short. The Extra Corps. He's tied up in a fucking train with the Extra Corps.

“Hey, Jean.” Says a voice next to him.  _Armin_. 

Jean looks to his right, searching for him even if it's pitch black in front of his wide eyes. “Armin, you're here?”

“We're all here.” It's Connie's voice, echoing slightly through the train car. “So can we skip the whole ‘holy shit we're tied up’ thing and accept it? I've had to go through it three times now."

Jean's heart then starts to pound before he can stop it, eyes darting behind the darkness. “Where's Marco?”

“Hey,” Marco's voice answers. Jean feels his chest tighten. He's here. 

Jean tries to breathe evenly. But in a last-ditch effort he tries to lift himself off the seat, maybe he can find something to snag these wires on...

“Why can't I fly?” Jean asks as his body stays weakly pressed to the train seat, despite his efforts.

“The drug those rags will leave you powerless for at least a few more hours,” the unfamiliar voice says, before Jean remembers. His black hair is probably falling into his eyes, his face smug even if Jean can't see him. “Don’t worry your little head about it.”

“They use that stuff at the Wall,” Jean says. He knows this from his parents, of course. They use it to detain them while they're on trial. When they're locked up in their cells the air is filled with it. Jean feels sick, his head throbbing. God, he  _left_. And now he’s tied up with the clacking of a train beneath him.

It's easier to just let his head go slack again.

 

The others wake up too, eventually. Jean listens to each of them struggle, then realize what's happening. Mikasa sounds like she almost breaks free from the wires.

Jean listens to a group of them talk, murmurs to each other, unfamiliar voices talking about them. “Poor Jaeger, though. He nearly burnt me to a crisp before I got him sedated. After the doses we had to give him, he probably won't wake up for hours.” A woman giggles—the glasses one, maybe? Jean hears Mikasa make a tiny noise. The image of the man on fire that Jean once saw on TV flashes before his eyes. An elemental. Able to withstand the Elect-proof air that the Wall had put him in. Jean feels a pang of pity for Eren, who's probably lying slumped on the ground somewhere. He was just trying to fight back.

 

 

The train slows to a stop eventually, after they've fallen back into a silence, and Jean almost falls asleep. Whatever was in the drug that knocked him out is still very present in his system, the slight movement of the train making his head loll. From the rough binding that keeps his wrists pressed together, it hurts to even try to bring lightning to the surface—and no matter how hard he tries Jean is not rising from where his back is pressed against a wall.

This is what he would have wanted, if he were still at home. This would have been a dream come true.

As the brakes hiss and the train stops, there's the sound of shuffling people around him. Jean is told to stand as someone holds his bound hands and guides him forward. The doors of the train open and the same electronic voice announces their arrival. Jean almost falls as he's forced to walk forward. “Stay quiet,” says the voice behind him, and Jean struggles to get out of the grip. He does keep his mouth closed, though.

Jean hears voices, steps echoing across high walls, and he thinks that they must be in another station, one that isn't empty this time. But there's no footsteps other that the ones directly around him. So he keeps his lips locked together, following the darkness and filling the room around him with his ears. The person holding his wrists turns him to the left, before Jean hears in front of him “Watch your step.” Down a couple stairs, Jean makes it. Then a door creaks open, and he's shoved inside.

"Where are we?” Christa's voice asks.  
“Take a look yourself.” Someone tears the blindfold from Jean's head, ripping out a few blonde hairs in the process. Jean swears under his breath.

His eyes have to adjust from how quickly the light changes. And then he's looking at another station, this one with a train unlike he's ever seen. The dark tunnel leads both directions, the worn but sleek exterior of the train matching the spiders webs in every corner of the hall around him. This station hasn't been touched in years. The only place of wear is the dusty footprints on the ground leading to one of the train doors.

“No idea where you are, right?"

“No idea.”

“Good, that's the point.”

The Extra Corps slice the wire from each of their wrists, and Jean rubs the red marks they've left on him. Then they're loaded into another car, this time with their eyes open and looking nervously around themselves. All besides Eren, whose unconscious body is placed across a row of seats, arm dangling off the edge. The rest sit where they're told, looking out the windows, looking at each other.

“How did you keep the station empty back in Sina? That place is always busy.”

“Cancelled a few trains. Took care of things. We had people make sure you could get by.” Jean doesn't know the man who's talking, but his eyes look gentler than the short guy and Eyebrows' ever did. Jean squints at the man's cloaked profile. The Extra Corps did all that for them? They were able to make Sina stand still?

“How many of there are you?" Jean asks him. "In the…Extra Corps.” The blonde man turns to look at him.

“Three hundred fifty, give or take? You're a collection of all we’ve been able to find in Sina over the past  _month_ , I'll remind you. There are more, but you were easy to find with those little hero stunts you pulled." Jean narrows his eyes, but his expression doesn't move. "And when the other Elects rise, we'll recruit them too."

Another unfamiliar face sits down across from Jean. "But our numbers are low. And if we aren't able to keep all the soldiers we have now, I don't know  _what_  we’ll do.”

Three hundred and fifty people does not seem like too few in a group of Elects working together against all Jean has ever known. It sounds like a goddamn disaster.

The train hums again, and then suddenly they're breaking out of the darkness of the tunnel and into open air. The sun in rising and the light blinding, and then Jean sees it—hills. Rolling hills and grass as far as he can see. A forest of trees, a line of mountains in the distance. The view of the violet sky makes Jean want to turn around and press his face to the windows. But instead he sits, back straight, and locks his eyes on the horizon as he watches.

“Wow,” Jean lets out. Eyebrows, who's sitting in the row across from him, takes a deep breath before settling back into his seat. Jean knows he's watching him; and forces himself to close his mouth.

“Never seen much outside of your little district, hm? It's like this for hundreds of miles.” He says. Jean knows that, but it's nearly too much for him to handle now that he's seeing it. Nobody he knows lives outside of the district. Nobody gets up from a place like Sina and leaves.

But the sunrise looks like his mothers' lipstick that sits on her dresser. The clouds are the color of his dad's favorite shirt. Jean presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. He  _left._

Armin's voice breaks their awed silence. “I've known the outside existed, but there was never a reason to go so far…this is so far outside of the district… _where are we going_?”

“Headquarters,” Eyebrows answers, lying his head back against the seat and closing his eyes. His fingers continue to tap against his knees, scarred and tan.

Jean turns to shoot a quick look towards Marco, but his eyes get caught and stay there. He's simply gazing at the outside rushing past him, gripping the top of his backpack with both hands as the early morning makes his skin glow pink. Jean feel a stinging behind his eyes before it subsides into numbness. 

He left. And Marco is here too.

 

The train slows to a screeching stop at an small building that looks like it's falling apart at the seams. Even if Jean has seen his fair share of crumbling buildings recently, this one looks worn by age; the usual sheen that Jean recognizes throughout Sina replaced with genuine age. With that and the towering trees that surround the place, Jean feels like Sina is more than a world away.

“The castle is just up ahead,” one of them says, leading the pack of small and scared teenagers through the tiny abandoned station and out onto a path. They take only a few steps through the packed dirt before two cloaks come out of the trees, holding guns half the size of them. The soldiers pause when they see who’s leading the group—Eyebrows simply nods to them before the guns lower. Jean tries not to stare as he walks past them and shoves his hands in his pockets.

 

The castle  _is_  a castle. When they come into a clearing it appears, seemingly out of nowhere. It looks just as genuinely old as the station did—with uncut grass around it and vines winding up the worn brick of the outside.

They're brought to a side door twice the size of Jean, where Eyebrows only turns around for a brief moment to make sure everyone has followed. And as soon as his hand pries open the door and he takes his first step inside, a ball of fire comes flying towards their faces. Almost too quickly, Eyebrows steps forward in front of the group, water bursts from a pipe next to him, and in only a swinging motion blocks the flames from colliding with them. The fire sizzles out in a cloud of burning smoke, and the water vaporizes in mid-air. The pipe is still streaming water into the room as they all pause for a moment.

“Holy shit,” Jean hears Connie murmur behind him. Jean's barely moved from shock.

“For the _last time_  Petra, stop holding morning training in the goddamn foyer.” Jean has to adjust himself to the darkness of the castle as they walk inside behind Eyebrow's wide shoulders and determined stride. There's a couple of cloaks walking up two flights of stairs or across the wooden floors, and Jean looks around himself in awe for a second time. Ancient-looking chandeliers hang from the wooden ceiling, yet there are shiny chrome doors that lead to who knows where on every wall, people walking around with headsets and tablets. Eyebrows barks for someone to go  _fix that damn pipe_  before he approaches up a familiar face. 

“I'm on Mike's orders, Corporal Smith.” The woman says. It's the smiling soldier from the hideout in Sina; the one who had first proposed the idea of Jean coming here. “He said you were taking this lot to the training center this morning. So we were rescheduled here."

“And you almost killed me and the new recruits because of it.”

The petite woman—Petra—gives Eyebrows a look that almost seems challenging. And then she turns back to the group of kids that have started to cluster on the other side of the room, from younger than Jean to taller than Smith, standing in tan jackets and boots like the ones the Extra Corps wear. One of them is swirling orange flames around their hands and looking smugly in Jean's direction. Laughing about the fireball that almost killed them. These must be the other recruits. Elects. Come to fight titans.

Corporal Smith readjusts his shoulders, then his jacket. Jean wonders if that's Petra's ability as an Elect; to make grown men cower in fear.

"I'll get someone to take you kids down to cadet quarters then." Jean follows behind, finding it hard to look away from the group of kids across the room, unsure of himself.

The Corporal touches the shoulder of another cloaked figure and nods his head towards their group.

"Here, he'll pair you off into different rooms. I have to go make some last minute adjustments to your examination."

"Examination?" They seem to all ask it around the same time, in multiple levels of panic.

"A showcase of your abilities in front of me and the other leaders of the Extra Corps. I'll explain more later." His eyes are already absent as he speaks, looking around the foyer, and then he excuses himself before they can react. Jean feels someone come to stand next to him as they're brought up a spiraling flight of stairs. It's Marco's voice that brushes by Jean's ear.

"Well that's a little unexpected."

Jean's eyes widen as he realizes. An examination. A showcase of  _abilities_. "What the hell are you gonna do?" Jean hisses. They come into the dark hall, a dim, yellow light glowing above each door down the hall. The others whispering to each other behind him, but Jean stares straight ahead, down the hall in front of him. This is fucking terrible—he's going to have to show the Extra Corps what he can do.

Marco finally answers. "Don't worry, I'll think of something to—"

A voice barks above them. "All right, this is the dormitories level." The man pulls a tablet from seemingly nowhere, tapping against the surface with what must be a permanent frown. Jean tries to get a good look at the glowing tablet over the man's shoulder, but all he sees is a collection of numbers on what must be a map of this place. Damn, this place looks huge. Jean already feels a steady sinking feeling in his stomach as the hall around him seems to get thinner. "Trainee rooms are at the end of this hall."

"Where are the rest of them? The trainees?"

"You already saw them, down there with Petra. There aren't too many of them. There are a few dozen who are down at mental training, but then again you don't even know what the hell I'm talking about." He laughs to himself, the tablet illuminating his face.

"Yeah, no shit." Ymir deadpans. The man looks up and squares his shoulders, and Jean gets a whiff of the man's breath as he keeps his sharp eyes on Ymir, frown deepening. After a second too long, Jean turns around and watches in horror as Ymir's eyes start to glaze over with black, losing her balance, her knees shaking.

"What are you doing to her?" Christa cries, holding Ymir with both her arms as she tries to keep her upright.

The man sneers. "Levi will probably burn this into your systems even more than I ever can, but keep your fuckin' mouths  _shut_. You're a soldier now. And you signed up for this. Ao it's probably a good idea to keep in mind that each of your superiors could kill you in seconds." Ymir's eyes clear again, and she gasps, blinking and looking around herself like a wild animal. She narrows her eyes and keeps them on the floor when she regains her balance, but Jean can see she's shaking.

The man turns back around and tells them to follow him to the end of the hall. Christa keeps a tight grip on a stumbling Ymir. The rest keep a deadly silence between them.  _What has Jean done_.

 

"Here's where your rooms start. Put your things away, put on your new uniforms. Someone will be up here to get your for dinner, then your examination." Then his voice goes up to a shout, even with only the few kids standing around him. "Dormitory 16. Armin Arlert, Marco Bodt." Jean shouts strings of profanity in his head. He can't do this without Marco. Even if what had happened earlier that night still has him slightly reeling, if each sight of Marco gives him a strange sort of comfort and paralyzing fear, he can't room without him.

But the man presses a button on the wall and their door slides open. The two of them slip inside. Marco only looks up from the floor just before the door closes again, and smiles brightly at Jean before he's gone. But Jean saw his eyes. He's seen what this kid looks like when he's happy, sprawled out on Jean's bed with crinkled eyes. Marco's just as fucking terrified as he is.

Ymir and Sasha are told to share the dorm across the hall, and then the man wipes a hand over his face in mock-exhaustion as he reads off the next names. "Christa Lenz, you're rooming with Cadet Annie Leonhardt."

Wait. What?  _Annie Leonhardt?_

Christa's mouth drops open.

"And Connie Springer, Cadet Tomas Wagner across from them."

Connie and Jean make eye contact. "Wait, did you just say Annie Leonhardt?" Connie asks as he walks bewilderingly into his dorm. The man pushes the button next to Connie's door without a word.

With only two left, Jean feels his stomach drop to the floor. "Jean Kirschtein, Eren Jaeger." The man says next. The soldier that was holding a sleeping Eren upright follows Jean into the room. It's even darker in here, and while the man dumps Eren on the bottom bunk of their beds, Jean flips on the light switch. An orange glow spreads through the room and the man wordlessly slips outside, closing the door with a hissing sound. Jean looks over to Eren, sprawled out on his bed, laying on his side in what looks like the world's most uncomfortable position. He's an elemental; it's his fault that they had to sedate him so hard. But Jean almost doesn't want to punch him, standing there while Eren snores softly.

But Jean still knows that rooming with him will be hell.

There's two folded uniforms on the desk in the corner of the room, but other than that it's bare. Just plain gray walls and the slight scent of cleaning fluid. Jean feels like he's just checked into prison.

He paces around the place, looks out the window, tries to calm himself down from feeling like the walls are closing in. He knits his brow, closes his fists, takes in a deep breath. Eventually, he feels like all he needs is a cape, and he'd be just like the determined faces walking around this castle. He's a soldier.

To prove it, Jean marches over to the clothes on his desk. He pulls on his beige cotton shirt, the tan jacket loose around his arms. The pants are white, and the boots come all the way up to his knees. Jean keeps it all on, throws his old blue pullover beside the bed. And then he lies down on the top bunk, curls his fingers into the sheets, and finds himself unable to feel anything at all.

He pries one of his hands off the sheets after it feels like forever, breathing a sigh of relief when the white hot electricity flows from his veins and up into his fingers. The shit they sedated him with has finally worn off. He watches the sparks dance on his fingers, watches as the light above him flickers at will. At least he'll have something to show at the examination tonight. At least he's back to himself.

 

Eren wakes up with a gasp an hour later, and Jean bends down over his own bunk so he's upside down, meeting Eren's fiery eyes. His shoulders are already smoking, flames licking by his neck, and Jean is genuinely afraid that Eren will burn the bed above him to a crisp before he can even sleep on it for a night.

"Shit, okay, cool down." There's light coming from his shoulders, and with it comes insane heat. It only gets worse as Jean watches the world come into focus behind Eren's eyes. "Whoa, Eren. Chill the fuck out."

"Where the fuck am I? Did the Extra Corps—" His face scrunches up when he realizes. " _Jean_?"

"You're in the Extra Corps' headquarters. They knocked you out because you apparently tried to char someone."

Eren squints as he tries to process it. "They were coming towards me with those rags, what the hell did they want me to do?" He pauses, sucks in a breath through his nose while Jean waits for his shoulders to smolder out. "So where are we?"

"Our dorm."

" _Our?_ " It registers right in front of Jean's eyes. Jean knows he looks just as pained as Eren does. But at least he tries to change the subject. "What are you wearing?"

"New uniforms. You might wanna get dressed soon. We're scheduled for an examination pretty soon."

"Examination?" Eren tries the word out. The next thing he says makes Jean go cold, makes him turn right side up again and stare at the ceiling. "That sounds like something the Wall would do."

Jean breathes out. "Yeah. I know it does."

 

Eren gets changed in the same slow, meticulous manner that Jean did, before he stares at himself in the mirror for a few minutes. Jean closes his eyes while lying on top of the sheets and can feel himself about to drift off. But his heart pounds and he comes back into consciousness when he remembers.

"Eren. Annie's here."

Eren is sitting down in the chair by the desk, and he looks up wide-eyed where he was fiddling with the new jacket around his shoulders.

"Annie? Annie who?"

"Annie Leonhardt. From school. She's here, with the Extra Corps."

Eren tips his head back, eyes narrowing. "What the fuck?" Jean tries to rationalize it himself.

"I  _guess_  I could see her as one if us, but I just never thought—” The door opens with the same hissing noise, another Elect stranger walks inside.

“Jean Kirschtein. Eren Jaeger. Report to mess hall.” And Jean looks to his roommate, his hair sticking up in all directions and the small bruises from lack of sleep under his eyes. Eren looks back at him, the intensity of his gaze rushing back as he rises from his chair. Yep, that’s what Jean feels, more than the feeling of despair for having to share a room with this guy. Pity.

The rest of the group is waiting for them at the door, each wearing the same thing Jean and Eren are. Connie uncomfortably adjusts the tan jacket around his shoulders in the silence. Jean guesses they can all agree that they're not the most comfortable thing in the world.

“All right, follow me.” Their guide says. He walks quickly down the hall and weaves expertly through the castle, while the rest struggle to keep up with his long steps.

 

The mess hall is huge, but with no one wearing cloaks around, Jean almost doesn't recognize where he is. There are wooden tables covering the floor, low-hanging lights above each of the tables. There's lines of food that makes Jean’s mouth water, and through the windows outside, it looks like it must be lunch already. He feels like he hasn't eaten in years. How loudly his stomach grows must prove it.

“Your table’s over here.” They walk over to the brightest part of the room, where the sunlight is blinding and the windows look out into the forest. “The other trainees are probably still out practicing. You might be able to see them through the window, if youre lucky.” Jean turns back to it. Still, only trees. “Meals are served three times a day down here. Until you get your schedules, I'll be the one escorting you down here." And then he turns with a nod and disappears into thin air. They each swallow their own surprise, realize that they're in a room full of people that can do things like that. It'll take some getting used to.

 

With a tray full of potatoes, a soft smile from a woman in a hairnet, and a room full of people judging him, Jean feels like the school he’s just escaped is coming back to haunt him.

“Little bit like school lunches, hm?” Ymir's voice says behind his shoulder.

“Was just thinking that,” Jean says, before he remembers. Ymir winks as she walks past him, hair in a loose ponytail and jacket draped over her shoulder. Jean avoids the twenty tables of adults staring at him as he makes his way to sit as close to the window as he can.

“If it tastes anything like school lunch, I'm going back home," Sasha says lightheartedly, but all eyes simply fall to her as Armin nearly drops his tray, and she shuts herself up by shoving her bread in her mouth.

It's no Bodt’s Sock hop. (Jean spends a moment staring wistfully into space thinking that he’ll probably never see that place again.) But it’s something. It’s their table, by the light coming in through the window, and though each of them are nervous and afraid and wearing new clothes, Jean feels strangely at peace.

They're tentatively reaching for food, keeping their eyes on the other people in the room, when Mikasa murmurs “look”. Jean follows her line of sight, whipping around. There, in the trees outside the castle, Jean faintly hears the whir of cables, then sees the flash of people through the trees. They must be the other trainees. Is Annie out there? How did he never stop to think if she was like them? What if she  _knew_?

Jean watches as one of the trainee's cables attaches to the tree right next to the window, watches their faces as they fly by. Is that what jean is going to have to do? Learn to maneuver himself through the trees on those flying contraptions?

Eyebrows Corporal Smith approaches their table, the only one wearing a cloak out of all the soldiers in the room. Jean is shaken back into reality. Or, what's left of it. “I hope you had a good first meal here." They each nod their heads, Sasha says 'absolutely' through a mouthful of potatoes. "Now come with me.” They scramble to stand, Jean following the green in front of him, the stitched wings moving like they're flying as he walks.

 

This must be an attachment to the castle. There's no way an ancient castle was built with sleek white and titanium walls, an obstacle course on one end, a wall of weapons on the other. It looks like the safe-house in Sina, but bigger than Jean could have imagined. Glasses is the first one to approach them, waving to them wildly with one hand as she finishes tying her tan jacket around her waist with the other. 

“Hello, trainees! Now's the time when I can finally introduce myself! I'm Corporal Hanji, and this is the main training area." She pauses to look around herself for a moment, like she's just as awed as they are. "We used to use this place most of the time before the titans, but since their attack we have been using some of our holographic technology outdoors along with the three-dimensional maneuver gear in order to get the best practice for combat—since its scientifically proven that Elects have a faster reflex ability and sense of direction, as well as—”

“Hanji,” Eyebrows barks. “Please."

She simply puts both hands on her hips as she faces him. “Erwin, they're going to have to know all this at some point." After a moment of silence between them, she clasps her hands together, practically bounces as she leads them over to the center of the room. "Well. For your examination, I will be placing a holographic image of a scenario in front of you, and you will use your abilities, as well as one weapon of your choice, to neutralize your target."

"What if we have powers of the mind?" Christa asks. Hanji physically deflates, before turning to Corporal Erwin with an intensity Jean should have known she had.

" _Erwin_ , you didn't separate them?" He pauses, expression still neutral. As Hanji looks back to Christa, Jean notices her fingernails have sharpened to a point. She taps them against her thighs as she glances at Erwin out of the corner of her eye. "I'll take any of you that have mental abilities down to your examination directly after this. Can I have a hand count?" Ymir and Christa raise their hands slowly. Those fingertips continue to tap in an anxious rhythm.

"For the rest of you, you'll be using our holographic battlefield. The floor moves underneath you, memorizing and adapting to your movements. There's a new battlefield with a new calculated opponent each time." She smiles a little to herself. "Truly extraordinary."

"How do you have this technology?" Armin questions.

"Stole some ideas from the Wall." She seems more than satisfied with herself as she folds her arms. "But we do have a few geniuses among us in the Corps, as well."

“Could you show us how it works?" Sasha asks from the back of the group.

Hanji looks shocked for a moment, but then smiles wildly. “Of course!” She practically skips over to a series of buttons on the wall before three walls rise from the center of the room, pulsating with squares of light and illuminating all of them. Hanji gives a thumbs up behind herself and Jean turns to see where she's looking. A glass panel breaks the metal wall behind them, a group of people sitting by computers nod back to her. So they're going to be watching Jean as well.

And then Hanji carefully takes off her glasses before her pointed fingernails twist into claws, her legs turn to haunches, and her body contorts and changes until Jean thinks she’s melting right in front of him, smooth skin replaced with sleek fur. Spots decorate themselves down her back as she steps forward between the three walls. Jean's heard of these. “Shapeshifter,” he whispers to himself.

The lights dim around them, the platform encloses and the holograms appear. The jaguar that was Hanji takes off through the course, projected trees flying past her left and right, and Jean watches as he's somehow immersed in her tiny reality, as she rips her fangs into the projections of Wall soldiers and tears them apart. Finally, on the far wall of the projection, a Titan appears, eyes unnaturally wide and too  _real_ , so much so that Jean finds himself reaching for where his mask would be in his pocket. Damn, he left it in his clothes upstairs.

And then he hears a louder gasp next to him, and turns to see Eren. Baring his teeth, a blanket of tears covering his eyes. And the rest of them see it too.

“That's enough, Hanji,” Erwin says, and the lights return. The titan disappears. Corporal Hanji twists herself back into a human, spots fading from her forehead as she walks back over. “I think they get the idea.”

Licking her fangs, Hanji surveys the group. “Well? Who’s first?”

“I'll go,” Eren speaks up. Jean doesn't have to look at him to know that he's hiding his teary eyes, sucking in shaky breaths. He would be too, if he could feel anything. The reality inside the holographic room shifts, and there's a new array of trees that climb up into the fictional sky. Fire licks up Eren's arms. Jean doesn't want to watch this. He ducks back towards Marco, touching his wrist. Marco winces, and Jean curses his electric fingertips. It's the titan that's still got him so nervous.

“See? You shouldn't have come. They're gonna figure it all out when you can't do anything in there.”

Marco just stares ahead, watching Eren, and Jean wants to shake him. How  _dare_  he walk down into that subway station with him?  _How fucking dare he_  when he has eyes that sparkle and dimples in his back?

Jean turns away, hating the boy next to him, hating himself.

Eren had refused a weapon, and instead ignites his hands and throws streams of fire towards anything that comes his way. Every time a hologram is hit with the flames it flashes red and disappears. Eren's simulation is a blur of red, the sound of his yelling. Jean can only half-pay attention to what is going on in there. He cannot believe that he's standing here. That he hasn't slept in more than a day. That the back of his neck hurts so bad, that his food is sitting heavily in his stomach. This is too much for him.

He almost doesn't hear Eren's screams anymore. A holographic titan is descending on him, and Eren is screaming, shooting fire towards it's face. Hanji rushes over and presses a series of buttons again. The hologram flickers out.

"Our simulation can be...very lifelike," she says, still smiling. Eren wipes tears across his face.

"Sasha Blouse, you're next on my list." She swipes across a tablet in her hand and looks up to grin when Sasha makes her way to the front of the group. Jean sees Erwin cross his arms out of the corner of his eyes. Sasha picks a bow and arrow and stands in the middle of the platform, her shoulders shaking when she draws the first arrow back.

When her simulated titan approaches, she waits so long before releasing her arrow that Jean thinks she might be scared stiff. As its arm finally sweeps towards her, she teleports out of the way at the last moment and then shoots, the arrow passing through the titans eye. A flashing red bunch of pixels replaces it. The titan falls to the ground, and Sasha shoots another three arrows to it's neck until the red pixels spread across its body. The lights in the room turn green, and then "target controlled" flashes across the walls around her. Sasha walks out smiling. Hanji looks thrilled.

"Marco Bodt," Hanji reads off her tablet. A line of cloaks have now settled on the edges, and Jean feels his palms fill with a cold sweat and sizzle out his electricity. They can't do this. They can't force Marco to use the powers that he doesn't have.

Marco walks out onto the white panels, stands perfectly still. Jean watches in horror as Hanji tells him to choose a weapon. He walks over, picks up one of the long, rectangular swords the Corps had used in both hands, and then breathes so deeply Jean sees his shoulders rise before they stay tense. Jean tries not to look at him, but his eyes are locked on his back, the way he's breathing. And then the simulation begins.

They're no longer in a forest like Eren's or Sasha's or Hanji's, but a dark hallway, with glowing torches on either side of him. Marco takes off running, the floor moving beneath him and bringing him further into the darkness. Then, a titan's hand bursts through a door to Marco's right and his first reaction is to jump away, almost out of the simulation altogether. Jean watches as Marco then reares around and chops a few fingers clean off, the hologram disinigrating beneath him. He keeps running, towards the light at the end of the fictional tunnel. When he reaches the outside, there's one waiting for him. Jean hears Marco grunt in frustration before he takes off running even faster, readying his sword. And then he misses his hack for the titan's foot, and the hologram comes down to crush him moments later. Jean feels his breath catch. Something inside chokes him.

"Nice try, Marco." Hanji applauds when he returns, sweaty and defeated. "But I did not see you use any of your Elect abilities during that run. What are they, exactly?" Jean feels like he's going to pass out.

"Um," Marco starts. Why did he  _do this_? Why does Jean have to watch this happen? Marco relaxes his face, looks Hanji straight in the eye. "I can manipulate light. I get energy from...the sun. But it really tires me out to use it, because I'm not in the sun, so I..." Hanji's nodding along with him.

"I'll make sure your training is outside then, Marco. Thank you." Marco stands next to Jean again, keeps his head straight forward.

"Even the fake titans are scary," Marco murmurs to him. In their close proximity, Jean wants to reach for his hand, for a moment. And break his fucking fingers for scaring him like that.

Hanji purses her lips as she looks over her list. "And...Jean Kirschtein?" He's never hated hearing his name more. But he doesn't think as he steps forward onto the platform, Hanji smiling maniacally after him. He reaches over to the wall of weapons and picks a sword; it's the only thing he's had real practice at. Then the fourth wall closes and the simulation goes black around him.

He's in a forest. Okay, he can deal with this. He starts running, the ground moving beneath him, the world slightly changing as he jogs along a fake beaten path. Just then is when he hears automated rusting behind him and turns, the titan swiping towards him. He flies upwards, hacking his sword the best he can, shooting as much electricity as he can manage. But the titans arm is too fast, and sweeps through him within seconds. His entire body feels cold. He lands back on the ground, alive but  _dead within a minute._

When he walks out Hanji isn't smiling anymore.

 

 

After the exam, Jean's head is pounding again and he just wants to fall asleep. Eren complains about his head hurting too, but only half of how much Jean does. Eventually, lying on the top bunk of their dorm and his temples agonizingly pulsing every two seconds, Eren tells him to just shut the fuck up and go to sleep. Jean flies out the window instead.

He only gets a few feet towards the forest next to the castle until a voice shouts out from below. " _The hell are you doing?!_  No going off perimeters." And Jean presses forward, ignoring the shout, before he smacks his head into an invisible wall. Below him, a woman is holding her hand up towards him, cloak around her and gun in her other hand. Jean reaches out to touch the invisible barrier she's created, then his pulsing head.  _Jesus_ , if his head wasn't hurting before, it is now.

"Get back inside before I report you!" Jean knows she's not kidding. But he just needs to lay down on one of the branches of the trees, okay? He just needs to be able to look at the sky. Grimacing, Jean goes to punch the force field in a final effort, but his hand falls through. The woman below him laughs. "Fuckin' rookie," she says to herself. Jean lets his electricity crackle to life in his hands, contemplating if it's worth it.

He flies back into his room and leans his head out their dorm window instead. His head eventually hurts so bad he shuts up about it, wishing it could just explode so he could let out all the pressure he's built up. Just pop like a fucking balloon.

 

 

Jean looks at the tiny clock hanging in the middle of their dorm's wall. It's been 24 hours since he first got here. And in only a few minutes, he'll finally know what the hell is going on.

At dinner last night Christa and Ymir had told him what had happened to them in their examination. Christa's hands were still shaking. A series of mental tests, they said. Wires suctioned to their heads. Jean's headache is nothing compared to what they have, and he knows it. Each of them ate their dinner's quietly, probably all wondering why the fuck they decided to do this.

The pile of clothes that Jean had brought in his bag haven't moved from his suitcase. There, tucked into his favorite pair of ripped jeans, is a piece of orange sticking out. Jean walks over to it, Eren silently staring at the floor behind him. He gently takes his mask out of the pocket, holding it in his fingers for a moment. And then he stuffs it into the pocket of his new pants before Eren can see him.

Jean knows he'll never have to put it on, after he gets his black mask from joining the Corps, but he still wants it with him today. He's not sure why.

 

 

Jean stays close behind the cloak in front of him, head held so straight it’s painful. He’s afraid he’ll duck in on himself if he doesn't keep himself stiff. So he bunches his hands in fists and walks. The others’ gazes feel hot on the back of his neck.

The dim lights in front of a door he's never seen before lights up Hanji's glasses. “Morning, trainees. We’ve got gifts for you.” Jean can hear the audible gasps behind him, Sasha’s high-pitched squeak. If they're meant to skip breakfast for this, Jean’s hoping it’s a basket of muffins too, to be honest. An entire bake sale...

But instead, Hanji steps out to meet them, brushes their guide aside and clicks a bracelet onto Jean’s wrist. It’s small, white; more like a delicate wire than a bracelet. Jean moves it around his hand, looking behind himself to see the next one click onto Eren.

“Hide them up your sleeve, in the middle of your forearm. Press with a pointer finger and thumb on the black stripe and it alerts the Extra Corps that you or your squad is in danger. Press it any other time and you’re ejected from the Extra Corps immediately." Their guide slips through the door in front of them and Jean goes to move forward, but Hanji's hand reaches out to stop him. "This is for life and death situations only, kids.”

Jean looks down at the bracelet again.  _Life or death_. This won’t help him against a titan, though. Yesterday’s image flashes in front of his eyes, how he died within a minute of his test. From the way she pauses to look at him, Jean thinks that Hanji must know what he’s thinking.

By the time everyone has finally clicked the tiny bracelets around their wrists, Hanji has reappeared in front of the closed door. “Time to meet your other trainees then, yes?” She says, milky light making her look deathly pale and the shadows under her eyes deathly. When the door slides back up to reveal the unknown room, Jean feels ice up his back. There’s a roomful of people wearing the same thing as him. Kids younger than him. People nearly twice Jean’s age. These are the recruits. The trainees. Jean lets his eyes travel across the sea of faces, all turning to look at them. Hanji speaks again just as Jean’s eyes come to rest on Annie Leonhardt’s.

“I’d like you to meet the 104th training squad. All the way from downtown Sina!” Some more faces turn to look, the door closes behind them. Hanji ducks towards them, grinning.

“Erwin and Levi will be here in a second. Go take a seat!” And Jean blindly does. The rest of his classmates sit around him on the paneled floor, while Jean can still feel Annie Leonhardt’s gaze on him. Why had she looked so angry for the split second their eyes met? The only time Jean had ever spoken to her was when they were all in a group, and even then it was only passing comments. Nothing more. So why the hell was she looking at Jean like he’s the reason they’re all sitting here?

Corporal Erwin and the short man from the artillery base in Sina walk into the room and the voices die down. Without his cape or jacket on, Jean can see the rippling muscles in the short man's arms. What did Hanji say his name was? Levi? Then Corporal Levi is fucking ripped and fucking terrifying as he goes to lean against the wall.

“We've got three new trainee squads to train and not a lot of time, so I’ll make this brief.” Erwin clasps his hands behind his back. He looks the same as he did yesterday, save the few hairs falling out of his slicked hairstyle. Those eyebrows settle back to their place, lining his forehead.

“Mostly all of your powers are still weak. Many of you won’t even be able to use your abilities in combat. Which is why weaponry is going to be so important over the next few weeks of your life. Our numbers are dwindling, from how many Corps we have stationed around downtown areas, on lookout. But while we’re back in the safety of headquarters, we’re getting reports of the Wall getting suspicious of the amount of recently missing persons. Which means we're not taking any more Elects. You’re the last group we’re going to train.”

Jean feels eyes on him. Jean and his friends. The 104th. The last ones.

“So, if this is the last time I have to make this speech, listen up. The newest news from the district and Wall is this; the titans aren't going to stop. There’s been another abnormal titan spotted in Sina, and was taken down in almost an hour. There’s bound to be another in maybe less than a day. Our forces still have been unable to fully track the origins of the titans and what their motive is. But Maria has already begun a full lockdown of the outside neighborhoods, even full evacuations. This means more Wall patrols with their damn guns standing around.” Erwin pauses, looks down at his feet. It's the first time he's seen the man look visibly vulnerable, for a moment. He raises his shoulders again within a few breaths. "Our intelligence unit was also able to pick up another piece of information over this past week. There may be an organization that is creating titans."

"People are making them?" Someone across the room asks. People murmur. Jean finds himself unable to think.

"There are outside sources alerting us of activity that's leading us to believe that yes, that is the case. I will tell you if we find out anything more." Erwin's eyes fall across the room, then behind Jean. He almost looks sad. Jean watches as he blinks a few times while people continue to whisper to themselves, and then clear his throat. "All right, Corporal Levi. Say what you need to."

Levi is still leaning against the wall, eyes staring blankly out into the audience. He barely moves, simply stretches his neck, before he speaks.

“You’re weak. Your powers fail within minutes." He lifts both his feet off the ground and floats like that, sitting in midair, simply watching them. "I could go on for hours like this. If I asked each of you to use your abilities without falter for more than five minutes you'd be dead on the ground." It's deathly silent as each of them realize that it's the truth. They're not ready for a war, if that's what this is. "That's why there's not only going to be more weapons training from not on, but endurance."

"Those of you who do not possess flight will be trained with our three-dimensional maneuver gear, like many of you have already. It’s by far the most efficient way of titan combat—though it’s original purpose was to make our own journeys through the district and even outside of them fast and energy-saving," Hanji says, before Erwin clears his throat again. She glares at him anyway before continuing. "It’s a difficult task to learn, and many of you won’t be able to do it. In that case, you’ll either be ejected or used as a base guard or spy in the district. Whichever we see fit,” she says, smiling again.

Ejection. They keep saying it. It makes Jean feel like this is all for nothing—that if he can't please them in his act of being a perfect soldier then he's back in Sina. He can't go back. He can't lie to his parents, say that he was missing all this time...

Levi's eyes find Jean's for a moment. Jean hopes he can't see the quiet panic that he's trying so hard to hide. “We’ll be in touch with each of you. Your training schedule will be with you by the end of the week.” And they’re dismissed. Before Jean can even stand he sees her. Annie. Christa sees her too.

“Annie?”

Those cold eyes are almost indifferent as she approaches them. It's like she's coming up to them like it's nothing—like they're not in the middle of the fucking Extra Corps together.

“Annie!” Armin cries next. She smiles softly towards the blonde, pulling a piece of hair behind her ear.

"We're roommates, Annie. Didn't you know?" Christa asks her. She looks absolutely heartbroken as she holds onto Annie's shoulders before hugging her. "You didn't show up last night, I thought something bad had happened to you." Christa doesn't give Annie enough time to answer. "We used to sit next to each other in English, Annie. Don't you remember? And now we're in the Extra Corps together, as roommates." Annie finally smiles at her, and Christa hugs her again. Standing next to them, Ymir looks like she's trying to burn holes into Annie's skull.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Eren asks, though it sounds like he's happy she is.

Annie opens her mouth to answer, but a much louder, deeper voice interrupts befo. Jean recognizes the voice, pieces the puzzle together in his mind.

"Is it a class reunion already?" Jean whips around to see Reiner Braun, trainee jacket tight around his frame, walking towards them. Smiling. Like it _is_  a goddamn class reunion. 

"Reiner?" They all say at multiple levels of surprise. And Bertholt is trailing behind him, nervously smiling as well. Of fucking course.  _Of course._

 "What the hell is going on here?" Connie asks, laughing nervously afterwards. He's not the only one who's losing his mind at this second.

"Seems like we've been keeping secrets from each other," Reiner says. 

"Hi, guys." Bertl greets. It's somewhat awkward, all of them standing like this. They  _had_  been keeping secrets from each other.

"You were the ones to kill the abnormal titan in the forest," Annie states, like it's obvious. Jean turns back to her, steadily nods her head.

"And you were the trio that killed the titan on campus," Mikasa says, warily. Jean's mouth falls open. Reiner laughs. Annie keeps a straight face as Jean realizes slowly, like molasses dripping in to fill the cracks. The girl who could fly, who was made of diamonds. The boy who transformed into a monster. The one who pushed rock from the earth.

"That was  _you_?" Jean asks. Annie doesn't answer. 

"And we get to hang out with you guys during training, too," Reiner says, changing the subject with a laugh. "If you need any help with 3DMG training, feel free to come ask."

"Wow, thanks," Sasha says. She sounds like she's already accepted it all. Bertl smiles at her.

"It's not that bad. You'll get the hang of it."

But Jean still can't believe that they're actually here with them. Reiner starts to talk technical on the grips of the maneuver gear, how holding it a certain way gives you the best results. He talks with hi wide hands, mimics the grip of the swords you have to hold while using it. Jean gets lost in the way he describes it, feeling himself relax into the idea that these three are part of this. Three dimensional maneuver training doesn't even sound too complicated. At the very least he’ll be better at it than Eren. Jean can  _fly_ , after all.

 

 

Eren is way better than him at 3DMG. The first time Jean tries his on he gets frustrated with how far he can reach his sword without the cord snagging, swearing to himself as the damn thing keeps getting caught. And then in a fit of exasperation he shoots electricity up the cords on his waist, ripping bricks from the walls he was connected to. Hanji pulls him aside.

“You're a safety hazard on the maneuver gear,” she says harshly. "You could electrocute someone, endanger a mission—"

“What am I supposed to do?" Jean asks. The gear is heavy around his waist, an unnatural weight that feels like its tethering him to the ground.

“I'll….I’ll see if I can arrange something.” Jean stands there, watching Hanji leave. He's told to practice at the shooting range for the rest of the afternoon, lonely and sweating underneath his tan jacket.

  
Getting to know the other trainees is hard, when they're mostly either throwing fake punches at you in simulated combat or huddled together on the opposite side of the room. Being a part of the 104th has somehow alienated them; and it's not like they spend their time doing team-building exercises to change that. But Jean does feel guilty that they're simply mimicking battle while so many of the Corps are out there in the real thing. Fighting titans (which are getting  _more common_ , Erwin keeps specifying) and risking their lives from more than just those monsters. When Jean happens to see a group of them leaving the grounds he's quick to remind himself that he might never see them again.

 

Jean taking down the first titan was only a fraction of the reason the Corps figured out how to kill them. In fact, he had close to nothing to do with it. A boy named Gunther is smoking on the outdoor training grounds, back against the mossy wall, about to tell Jean how. Jean hates the smell of cigarettes and hates Gunther even more, but he needs to know this story. How they knew that the back of a titan's neck is its sweet spot.

"They got an alert at like three in the morning from downtown Sina. This guy was stumbling around like he was drunk, mumbling stuff about a giant. One of the spies down there took him captive just to see if he knew anything. But he was like actually crazy, man, he kept saying 'It's coming. It's coming. Cut its neck!' And he was just screaming 'Kill it! Kill it!' So we alerted the Special Operations squad, and they came in time to kill the one in Maria."

"Who was this guy?"

"Don't know. Still got him locked up downstairs."

"What?!"

"Levi's been trying to crack information out of him for months. Dude's  _insane_. They think he might be some part of that group that's creating the titans, you know? He's got a weird ass tattoo on the middle of his back that might be their symbol." Jean tries to keep himself from twisting his face into disgust as Gunther blows smoke right next to Jean's face. He's about to ask how the hell Gunther knows this, what does this all mean, but it's then when they're caught smoking. Thomas snuffs out his cigarette with a scowl.

There's a man under their feet. Waiting, down in the dungeons. With who else? Do they have other prisoners down there? Or just a single man—eyes wide, repeating that  _it's coming_? It's more than enough to throw Jean off, going back into the holographic battlefield for the day's training.

This titan is smaller, and Jean's able to shock it all the way to just red pixels, but he's distracted. He thinks the cloaks that are watching him through the back window can tell.

 

Marco still can't seem to kill a titan. He gets close, the first time that day, but Jean's heart skips again and again when the pixelated mouth snaps around him. He requests to go back in, scraping dark hair out of his face, while the instructor nods solemnly to him. Jean knows he doesn't have any abilities. But the more he trains like this, the more the Corps are going to want to know what's really going on.

Mikasa has had no trouble blending in. The girl's a natural at 3DMG, and she's proven herself to be lethal even without any abilities. The other trainees can't help but want to watch her shoot, even from the corners of their eyes, to see her hit her fourth bulls-eye in a row. But Marco. He's good with knives, can hit a target with a gun, but Jean  _hates it_.

Marco comes out of the hologram the second time with two bloody elbows from skidding on the ground and a dazed look in his eyes. He walks to where Jean is standing, Connie and Armin practicing hand-to-hand combat behind him. Jean can't help the way his eyes widen at the sight of the blood dripping down Marco's forarms. The freckled boy smiles, pushes his glasses up his nose.

"You know how people say they're a-okay? I'm hovering around a steady B right about now."

 

Ymir has stayed close to Christa during their first week of training. But something like that is expected—it doesn't take a reader to see that Ymir gets softer when she's arround Christa. Less brittle around the edges. When she trains alone, Ymir is always brutal to her fake opponent, not stopping until a bullet hits the mannequin's chest. But around Christa she simply watches the smaller girl, helps her in her gun positioning. Braids her hair during water breaks.

So Jean has been hovering a little around Marco, too. He barely gets to see him, save for the times they have training together or at meals. So it's hard for Jean to be in the same room and not want to stand close to him. Or make jokes with him. Or just look at him.

 

"You get this look on your face, sometimes," Marco says one afternoon, and it catches Jean's attention. His eyebrows draw in, lips part, waiting. His punching bag swings, awaiting the next hit. Marco breathes a laugh. "That one right there."

“What are you talking about?” Jean asks. Marco's looking intently at him, almost playful. It makes him look away.

“Whenever you're at a loss, or when you can’t calculate something, when you’re thinking. You get that face.”

“How do you know it;s not just my face?” Jean snarls.

“Because I know you, Jean." He takes half a step towards him, and Jean's heart picks up the pace, shoulders tensing. "And I know that face.” Marco waggles his finger in front of Jean's face, while the other lets his muscles relax as he readjusts his fighting stance.

“It's called being pissed off. You should try it sometime.” He throws another punch. Fingers of electricity spread out from his fist, and he watches as they singe the punching bag's fabric.

“Jean,” Marco says, almost sadly. Hanji walks over to where Jean's hand is still shooting off sparks and Marco is standing, watching. She simply looks between them, then at Jean's crackling hand. If she didn't already think Jean was a safety hazard, she does now.

“Levi did tell you about your new training hours, right, Kirschtein?” Jean thinks back to Levi's watchful gazes, or the last time they'd spoken, but he locks onto hers instead.

“No. What new hours?”

“I should really just let him explain. But you both being fliers makes it easy to perform a sort of customized training with the few others we have. That way you can build up strength in your flying instead of maneuver gear.”

Jean stares back at her. In the times he had been forced to go training with maneuver gear, it usually ended with his cord missing a tree and having to catch himself with his own abilities. Well...what about this training? With, um…with these guys. Will I still get that?” Jean mind screams at him to _shut up_ , that Marco is  _right there_. But its the only time of the day this part of the week when he really sees the boy, even if its just to stand across opposite sides of the room.

“I'll discuss it with Corporal Levi.” And she pauses, looking somewhere past Jean, sorting through the things she has to do in her mind. She does that often—simply pauses to go over whatever it is she needs to do. Jean watches as a forked snake's tongue darts out to lick her lips nervously, before she smiles at him and walks off. Hanji terrifies him, on more levels than one.

But at least he can look Hanji in the eye. At least he knows Erwin is telling him the truth. Corporal Levi is shrouded in mystery—a mystery that Jean doesn't want to solve. Ever since he jumped out the window in front if Jean and led him to this place, since he knew Jean by name and called him out in the artillery base in Sina. Jean had always been hoping that he wouldn't have to do more than tolerate him. 

But people have told him that Levi is a huge reason why so many Elects escaped from the Wall through the years. He's the "hope of Elect-kind" according to the men that sit at the table next to them in the mess hall. Jean doesn't see it. Doesn't know how anyone could. He's just a flier with a stick up his ass and power that's gone to his head.

 

His lungs burn after the third mile, running in the afternoon while the other trainees whiz past above his head. The rest of them are laughing, swinging, slicing the heads off cardboard soldiers in the trees. And Jean is just running. Plain old cardio. It "helps with his flying", apparently. Maybe it's because he snickers every time someone can't land back on the ground with their maneuver gear. Maybe it's because he laughed when his instructor Nile walked into a tree while lecturing them.

“Kirschtein.” The voice barely reaches him through his own wheezing. But the passive voice is commanding, and Jean stops his steps, heaving, so he can look up. Levi is up in a tree, not even lounging on a branch, just hovering above it. Jean clenches his fists as he meets stone cold eyes.

“Yeah, Corporal?”

“Come up here for a moment.”

Jean takes a few running steps and then flies, still weak from running, collapsing to sit on the branch Levi's hovering above and sucking in air as quietly as he can through his nose.

“I want you to stay up here.”

Jean has to block the sun coming in through the trees so he can see Levi's face. He's not even looking at him. “ _What?_ ”

“Get your ass off this tree and fly. Right here. For as long as you can.”

“Are you kidding me?” Jean asks, bewildered. But Levi's not kidding. Ever. _At all_. So jean falls off the branch beneath him and then floats, arms pressed to his side.

“You need to build up endurance. You and I don't get the luxury of swinging around on maneuver gear. We get our own lungs and our own limbs.”

Jean can feel a drip of sweat roll down his back.

“When I was your age the Corps used my flying all they could. It was all simpler tasks, of course—break-ins, escapes. Stealing information. No  _titans_ , like we have to fuckin' deal with now." He stares straight into Jean's eyes, probably drinking up ever flicker of exhaustion Jean tries to hide. "But they used every last drop I could give them—so you’re going to give that to me. All you have.” Jean locks his teeth together. He's so tired already.

“Is that all you can do? fly?” Jean questions. Just to pass the time. “Or are you like me?”

“My abilities are not up for discussion,” Levi bites. Jean takes it as a yes—there _is_  something else to him.

Jean flies until the sun sets—until his body gives out to the stars at the edge of his vision and Corporal Levi has to catch him before he hits the ground. He wakes up in a cold sweat, Corporal Levi gone. Jean can barely walk back to the castle. He doesn't even try to burden Christa by asking her to use her abilities to try to heal part of him— he just collapses into bed and attempts sleep for the few hours that he can.

 

Never was the Extra Corps a safe thing for Jean to know about. Never did he speak of them in front of his parents, or else they might have just thrown him out onto the streets to save themselves the trouble. For as long as Jean can remember, the Extra Corps had been a myth; a mythical terrorist group come to wreak havoc on the Wall.

The first time Jean heard of them, they'd broken out a notorious Elect criminal from custody while being transported to his life sentence in the Wall's main prison, outside Maria. The prisoner escaped in a flurry of flying beings and gunfire; there were TV specials on the escape and the search for the convict every night for a month.

It was always a break in; whether it be breaking into Wall headquarters and destroying part of the place before they were captured, or breaking infamous prisoners free.

And the Wall would sometimes capture their attempted saviors too—chain their hands behind their back and stick them in rooms that neutralize their abilities. And then they'd flash their picture on Jean's television—and so the faces of the Extra Corps were scarred into Jean's mind. And that one fateful glance towards what he now saw every day of hi life, stitched to the back of capes, flapping in the wind. Wings.

It's so incredibly fucking ironic, now, that they've taken him under their wing. That Jean has lived within the very heart of this forbidden operation for two weeks.

 

Marco and Armin's dorm has become their designated hangout spot, after training is over and into the late hours of the night. Marco's pillow becomes Jean’s, for the entire time he's there. They talk, they laugh, somehow. They joke about the bushiness of Erwin's eyebrows. Anything to fill the silence. But it's the night Reiner walks in with Bertholt and and Annie in tow is the night they go silent.

“How have you guys been?” Armin asks, in the middle of trying to braid Mikasa's hair. She cut nearly half of it off during the second week of training, without any explanation. It won't stop Armin from trying to get braiding lesson's from Ymir, though. 

“Good,” Bertholt answers unsteadily. “How are you?”

They each murmur something that's supposed to make him feel better, but Jean stays silent.

“Did you know, that we were Elects? Back at school? Did you know when we stopped those titans?” Eren asks. No formalities whatsoever, with him. They seem to realize it as well. 

“Yes,” Annie answers. Reiner sits down at the edge of their circle, clad only in his training undergarments with a sweat stain along the neck.

“How long have you guys been…working for the Extra Corps?”

“About a year, now.” Bertholt answers.

“…How?”

“How were you not  _killed_?” Jean corrects.

Reiner sighs. “Well we’re obviously not just gonna chat, so let me explain it to you." Bertholt looks like he's ready to bolt out of here. The air is almost too silent. Too still. "Annie’s parents have been spies for the Corps since she was born. Bert and I volunteered to help when she joined. But we stayed in school to try to seek out others like us.”

“But you found each other before we could tell you." Bertl finishes.

“So you knew.”

With their nods, Jean leans back into Marco's pillow. Tries to forget.

Sasha takes out her blue nail polish she brought, fills the room with the sickly smell. Jean feels even more nauseated, his muscles aching. Maybe he can ask Christa to take away every feeling all together, leave him a numb shell. She's the best healer they know, after all.

“You think other people figured it out too? that it was us?” Connie questions. Jean's stomach sinks further.

“People were paranoid. They were willing to call out anyone.”

“But with us gone, you think they might make us into criminals? Piece the puzzle together?”

“Well, its not like you what you were doing was legal…” Annie says. The silence gets even louder. Sasha looks up from painting her left thumb, almost indifferent.

“They're testing the DNA they found on the leaves from me and Jean already. From when we killed the abnormal.”

Jean looks down at her from his spot on the top bunk and frowns. Why didn't he think to bring something as mundane as a bottle of nail polish? Not nail polish, but he could have brought  _something_. His heart aches over the plants he left behind on his shelf at home. He wonders how much they'v wilted since he left. Sasha looks at her nails, flexes her hand away from her face.

“So me and Sasha are fucked, basically.”

“Well, we all are now. Remember?”

The silence settles over them. Marco’s stomach rumbles next to Jean’s head.

“Dinner was an hour ago,” Jean whispers to him, leaning back in mock-surprise.

“I had late 3DMG training tonight. Didn't get to eat much,” he says, and then flops over onto his stomach, so his head crashes onto Jean's chest. After he sputters, Jean realizes how close Marco is. How his nose is pressing against Jean's heart. He can hear the blood rush to his ears, his heart speed up. Marcos hair is tickling his chin.

Jean looks back down at the people on the floor, sees Eren picking at a crack in the floorboards with his fingernails. Jean has to say it before Marco realizes how fast his heart is beating.

“They practically don’t tell us anything about whats going on back home. You think the titans finally killed someone important?” Jean asks. He never takes his eyes off of Eren, who lifts his and ignites the fire behind them. Jean watches as Eren stands up and leaves.

“Fuck off, Jean,” he says, before he closes the door. Mikasa’s eyes burn after him. He comes back in seconds later, when all eyes had fallen to Jean, his shoulders on fire. Everyone backs away, even Annie, as he storms back inside.

“I forgot my sweater,” he huffs, grabbing the brown fabric draped across the back of the desk's chair, before he stomps back out the door.

“What'd I do?” Jean asks, laughing under his breath. Of course he knows what he did. Maybe if he wasn't such a human disaster he’d feel bad for someone other than himself. And damn, does he feel bad for his asshole self.

Marco moves his head from Jean's chest.

 

Mikasa trails after Eren soon after, mumbling apologies, then Armin a bit later. Those left in the room yawn more than they speak, tired and achy and conversation drifting.

“Oh, hey guys, check out what I brought,” Connie says, and reaches into his bag behind him. He pulls out a small book, spine worn and pages yellow. Jean cranes his head over the side of the bunk to see. “It’s the 100 Most Haunted Places in Rose, Sina, _and_ Maria. My dad had it.” He starts to smile as he gazes at the cover, but Sasha starts laughing as soon as she catches sight of it.

"Oh my god."

“Come on, it's cool. It's got a bowling alley in North Maria in there. An _entire family_ was beheaded there.” He looks thrilled as the whipping wind outside makes the windows of the dorm creak.

“Is this place in there?” Jean asks.

“ _No_. We’re not in the district, dumbass," Connie says, and the wind rattles the windows again as if to argue.

They all laugh over it, dreary eyes closing and opening again. Connie hugs his book tight. Jean once again regrets bringing nothing but clothes in his bag.

“I’m heading back,” most of them say within the hour, but Jean stays put, until Armin climbs into bed and starts snoring without even turning out the light. Jean finally convinces himself to get up.

“You can stay, if you want” Marco says, tired and lying facing the other way across his bed. Jean pauses, then leans back.

“Yeah, thanks.” He says. Marco gets up and flicks off the lights. Hoodie threatening to give him heat stroke and legs barely touching Marco's, Jean's heart takes forever to slow. But he does fall asleep. After what feels like a century, Jean sleeps the entire night through.

 

After running one morning in the rain Jean comes back inside and is attacked with a cold worse than he's ever gotten. He can't ditch tonight's training, but he _can_ put it off and complain until they throw him out a window.

He's laying on his bunk, wishing for death and sniffling every ten seconds, when there's a knock on his door. In his delusional mind Jean thinks that he's getting up to answer it, but really he shocks the door from across the room instead. There's a yelp on the other side that's somehow familiar.

"Come in,” He yells into his pillow. The door creaks open.

“Hey. You missed breakfast,” Marco's voice says. Jean turns over in his sheets just as Marco's glasses peek up to his bunk bed. “Oh _Jean_ , you look terrible.”

“Thanks,” Jean says, eyes lidded and Marco looking like simply a broad, tan blob.

“Brought you this,” Marco murmurs, like he's talking to a child. He hands Jean some bread and an apple. Jean suddenly finds his strength come back long enough to grab them.

“You smuggled me food?” Jean asks. The Corps that watch the lunchroom are usually so adamant about catching people trying to sneak food upstairs.

“An apple a day keeps the doctor away." Marco winks as he backs away from the bed. "Don't miss training!” he yells over his shoulder before he walks out.

 

Weapons training is the second part of Thursdays, besides the small moments where Jean can see the sky from his bed, or when he can catch Marco smiling. Those are tied. But when he gets to simply follow orders, to learn to hold a gun and learn to shoot it better than before, he can lose himself. Even living as a soldier around here, he can only barely be rid of his every emotion, get rid of his grimace. But in training, everything is _point and shoot_. No one yells at him for electrocuting something he shouldn't. The targets don't scream in pain.

But Jean still can't stop Marco from picking up a gun. No matter how much he wishes he could. He can't stop the concentrated line that Marco's eyebrows become; it's the same look that he gets when Jean says something especially rude and he waits for Jean to mumble something like an apology.

But instead, Marco is taking that concentrated look and focusing it on a knife. And then throwing said knife into a dummy's neck.

It pisses him off, still. He's been trying to hide how much it fucking pisses him off, but it's hard. Why would they let someone like _Marco_ train to kill people? The boy asked their cooking teacher if he could release a ladybug into the goddamn wild after he found it crawling on the wall. He takes the questions about his scar with only a smile.

Jean deserves to die in this war. Not him.

“You okay, Jean?” Armin asks him. "You look a little...static-y." Jean shakes himself out of it, smooths his hair back down, reminds himself to stop standing there scowling.

 

He's late for training. Jean is pulling on his boots all the way and gripping his jacket in his hands as he runs. _Shit_ , he's so late. Eren never wakes him up anymore. Jean does it to him too, but that's because they're still pissed at each other over the sleepover incident and Eren can't take a fucking joke. Jean almost bumps into a group of Cadets, turning the corner of one of the tunnels, trying to sprint without lifting his feet off the ground completely.

"Slow down, rookie!" One of them calls after him. Jean turns another corner, finding a pebble in the toe of his shoe that stabs with each step. He takes his boot off again to shake the thing out, but he can still hear the soldiers behind him, voices echoing across the high walls. He pauses, craning a little towards the distant voices. 

"...not knowing when you're gonna be deployed again—fuckin' sucks man."

"You're telling me. Try being in Inner Intelligence for a day. The Wall is out to kill my ass."

"Sucks."

"I don't wanna die out there, man. Not for no reason. And those damn titans? They're gonna take out the normal humans and then they're gonna come for us." Jean swallows, pulling his boot back on again and readying himself to break into a sprint.

"Don't be morbid."

"I'm just afraid to die, man."

"Lighten up."

Jean takes off running again, panting as tears sting his eyes. He can barely see where he's going. He's afraid to die too. 

 

 

Jean still brings his phone with him, even though there isn't any service anymore. He listens to music during the days where there's no instruction, and just an open gym. On days where he can lose himself. During a late night where all he wants to do is stand next to Marco and punch something, he blankness of his mind stops short when his phone dies, the blasting music going quiet. Jean stops his movement, lowers his fists. He tears the headphones from his ears, stretching out his neck. And then he hears it. Through the sound of Marco beating the shit out of a punching bag next to him, Jean definitely hears a Van Halen song. He can hear the opening chords clearly, biting back his smile as he ducks his head away. Are Marco's ears even okay?

Jean watches with a grin as a vein next Marco's scar pulses. The drums kick in and Marco punches harder. Jean hesitates before touching his shoulder. Marco whips towards him, eyes wide, before he reaches into his pocket and the music goes quiet.

“You ready to quit for the night?” Jean asks. Marco smiles at him, those eyes crinkling. Jean is still touching his shoulder.

“I think I'm gonna keep going—Nile says I need to perfect my left hook—”

“Marco. You're never going to have to punch someone,” Jean assures himself more than anyone.

“You never know.” He purrs as he pushes softly against the bag, watches it bounces back to him. Jean rocks back on his heals, feeling uneasy. His forehead slightly damp, his glasses on the table across the training area, Marco looks good. Like, really good, with his arms showing and his chest heaving. A second of Marco's bare back flashes through Jean's mind, when he was packing his bags before they left. Oh, god, he’s such an _asshole_ , thinking about this with Marco right in front of him. So what if he's getting uncontrollable butterflies whenever he sees Marco. He can control that. He can't control _this_ —

“Jean.”

“What?” He feels his breath catch. Marco's looking at him. He knows.

“You tired? Just go on up, I’ll turn off the lights here myself.” but Jean doesn't want to move. He needs to move.

“What were you listening to?” He asks instead.

Marco almost looks slightly embarrassed. He breaks their eye contact, rubs his hands together. “Oh, it’s um…Jump. By Van Halen. Reminds me of…of my dad.” Jean watches brown eyes flit to his and then away again. He's crossed a line, for a moment.

“Eighties music motivates you to punch people?” He asks.

“Shut up, Jean,” Marco says. but he's smiling. Jean is, too.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Marco.” Jean says quietly, and starts to back away from him. Marco reaches for his phone, plugs the headphones back in his ears. Jean takes one quick glance over Marco's shiny skin and the bend of his back before he turns the fuck around.

“Wait,” Marco calls. The butterflies are back, in full swing. Jean looks over his shoulder. “I’m glad I did this. I’m glad I came here. So you don’t need to look so guilty all the time.” Marco says the last part slowly, waiting for Jean to answer.

Jean feels his face heat up, Marco's bright eyes waiting. But he just leaves the gym, afraid that he might yell or cry or both if he goes back in there.

 

Jean heads up a back staircase, figuring that maybe he’ll be able to slip into his dorm without the guard at the end of the hall asking him where he was so late. Maybe he can even slip inside without waking Eren—who's still pissed at him after all this time, literally burning him with his eyes whenever Jean is around him. It's his own fault, of course, but Eren is taking it too far. All Jean can do is give his bitter sneer and milk Eren's misery for all its worth.

The stairs are cold, but there are large windows looking outside for him to glance through on his way up. Jean peeks through every one, then pauses to look through the last panels he can before he risks walking through the door. The moon looks huge out there. So clear, so close—it seems that if he wanted to, Jean could just reach out and take it. This time, he could. No one is watching. He could just pick it out of the sky and take it for himself.

And then he sees something else through the dusty window. Something small, something dark. His heart leaps at the thought of a titan, but it’s too small. There's no trees bending and breaking in it's path. But there's _something_. Jean presses a hand to the glass, looks closer. A black…hood? A cloak? Passing through the trees?

“What the hell….” He mumbles to himself. And then it’s gone.

It must be a late night training session. Or the Extra Corps going to make a satanic sacrifice or whatever the hell it is they do after lights out. Floating above the trees until they pass out—Jean _knows_  Levi's into crazy shit like that.

 

The guard at the other end of the hall does catch him when Jean finally gets the nerve to open the door. Eren’s eyes glow with fire behind them in the dark as Jean gets ready for bed. The moon is still huge, watching, as Jean tries to close his eyes.

He dreams that the simulated titan that closes its teeth around Marco is real.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to all who waited patiently while i worked on this chapter- I CANNOT thank you enough. Life has unfortunately been busy and sometimes all my fics that I know I want to complete take a backseat for a while. But I am BACK. this fic WILL be finished. and things will actually happen, soon. I promise.
> 
> like most of the other times I post a chapter- it's v ery late and I'll be going through this tomorrow to pick out any errors. so hang in there for now!!!
> 
> the response that this fic has been receiving has made me sO happy and so excited to finish it- so if you're willing to stick with me till the end, my tumblr is [jacklalonde](jacklalonde.tumblr.com)!!! come chat or ask questions any time you'd like.   
> all right, thank you so much, time for me to s leep


End file.
